Mixed Emotions
by thelastbumblebee
Summary: A modern A/U Turnadette Fic, although you'll see almost every one of the CTM characters: set in the maternity unit of a London Hospital!
1. Chapter 1

**_Good afternoon fanficers!_**

**_This is my attempt at a modern A/U Turnadette Fanfic, set in an undisclosed London maternity unit, I've played about with the characters a little, one's changed gender (Jane) , one's change ethnicity (Trixie) and one (Sister Monica Joan) appears only in the background and not as a midwife. I also had to have a little fiddle about with names, because the nun's names are a bit … nunish for life as modern women._**

**_But the core is all there – and the relationship we all know and love is still there!_**

**_Please Read and Review! _**

**_xxx_**

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing of CMT, and it's characters are all the work of Heidi Thomas-McGann and Jenifer Worth_**

* * *

"_Catch a revolution, now your waging war again, marching on the spot when you should have made amends, cause you say you fight for us, cross your heart and hope to die, you're the bully in the playground and we'll hang you out to dry …_ " Shelagh McDonald came to a screeching halt on her bike, pausing the ipod clipped to her rucksack strap, she had been quite happy signing along as she cycled down the high street towards the hospital until the navy blue saloon car had pulled out in front of her at the cross roads. Dismounting she had been about to go and give the driver a piece of her mind, but when the driver had rolled down their window she saw who it was and her anger dissolved.

"Sorry Shelagh! Sorry – I was in a rush – bloody school's having an inset day that they didn't tell us about!"

"I did tell you about it – you just don't remember!" Came a sullen reply from the back of the car, turning slightly to look behind the driver, Shelagh saw Tim Turner sat with his arms crossed and sulking loudly.

"Hello Tim, inset day eh? Lucky you – I could do with one of those! Morning Dr Turner – it's fine, no bones broken."

"Good good, well I'll see you inside. See you!"

"See you, and you Tim!" Remounting her bike, Shelagh peddled off, turning left into the staff car park of the hospital. They were busy at the maternity department at the moment – 9 months before England had beaten Ukraine in the UEFA 2012 quarter finals, and the result was a great deal of pregnant women with England fans for partners. Padlocking her bike three times over, East London was notoriously bad for bike thieves, she made her way into the hospital and up three flights of stairs up to the maternity unit.

Coming in silently through the staff door, she managed to catch Jenny off guard scrolling down her phone at the nurses' station.

"Nurse Lee!" She barked at her friend, who promptly jumped up from her seat, pushing her phone into her tunic pocket as she did.

"Oh – Shelagh, that's not funny you know!"

"Oh it was – watch out Sister doesn't catch you mind, you know what our Lord and Master says about mobile phones."

"Oh I do, I've been treated to that lecture more than once thank you very much! I was just texting my mother, she wants me to go up and see my grandmother soon, apparently she's not doing well."

"I'm sorry Jenny, I liked your gran when I met her – she was always very glamorous!"

"I think glamour is compulsory when you're called Monica." She replied with a smile, she turned to read the off-duty chart behind her on the wall. "You're on with Julie and Cynthia today."

"Oh good – because god forbid we should have enough staff of duty, really it's getting ridiculous now – 3 midwives on duty! I'd go on strike but I'm not sure it'd help! Who were you on with?"

" _'Sister Evangelina'_ but she left an hour ago, John and Trixie, Trixie's taking a baby down to neo-nates and John's in with one of his ladies now. He certainly had a spring in his step last night, I think things are getting serious with him and his Vicar chap. Julie's in her office if you want to see her, Cynthia's got a student, she's meeting her downstairs – she got a bit lost I think."

"Oh that's all we need – a student with no sense of direction. Well come in for handover once the other two are back and then you can get off home – you look shattered."

* * *

John Sutton, collapsed down in a seat In the ward sister, Julie's office, he smiled at Shelagh before picking up the hand over notes off the desk.

"How was your day off John?" She asked,

"Mmm? Oh fine fine … I saw Michael … Which was nice."

"Jenny said you were looking cheerful when you came in last night, all going well then eh?"

"Oh – you know, early days yet … any biscuits about?"

"No! I'm making my office a no biscuit zone – I've got a wedding to go to in a month, and I want to look my best." said Julie without looking up from her computer. "So no biscuits, no cake, and if we get any grateful parents bringing in boxes of chocolates I want them out of sight in the staff room!"

"Yes boss." Replied Shelagh with a smile, "I hear we've got a student on the ward now?"

"Mmm – yes – no idea who she is, but security rang up – apparently she parked in front of the doors to A&E spent ½ an hour in there before she realised how lost she was, and found a security guard, but not before she had accosted a policeman who was trying to pull apart two drunk lads."

"Well … at least she sounds fun …"

"We have fun, that's what Trixie's for – what we need is dependable." said John, voicing what they were all thinking. The office door opened, and the figure of Trixie entered the room, Trixie had moved from Trinidad to London 10 years before, already trained as a midwife, loud and vivacious Trixie was impossible to dislike. Having entered the office she reached up to untie her wild afro hair from its scrunchie, and began to apply a layer of lipstick.

"Trixie – it's 7:30 in the morning, why are you putting on makeup?"

"Because my dear, not all of us can pull off the 'I just stepped off my bicycle" look, if I'm going to find me a man, I gotta be prepared you know? He might be round any corner – or on my bus home – gotta be prepared baby? Now – where's me girl Cynthia, I gotta get going you know, busy life that's me, busy busy busy!"

"She's getting her student from A&E."

"What? Why's her student in A&E?"

"Don't ask Trixie – it's easier that way! Oh lord, get Jenny will you someone, we'll just have to do handover without Cynthia, you three'll be exhausted."

* * *

Shelagh walked into the staff room and reached into the biscuit cupboard, to find nothing but empty packets stuffed into the battered Roses tin. Sighing she turned on her heel to find something else to eat, before jumping as she spotted Tim sat silently at the table behind the door.

"Blimey Tim, you made me jump – I didn't realise you were in here!"

"Sorry."

"Don't worry – what are you up to? And more to the point, have you seen who took the last biscuit in the tin?"

"No – sorry, no-one's been in yet. I'm meant to be reading this book for English – but it's not going very well."

"What's the book?"

"A midsummer nights dream, it's rubbish."

"Shakespeare? Yes, he can take a bit of work – but Midsummer's not too bad. I had to do Hamlet for my English GCSE, about 15 years ago now, but I still remember how much I hated it at the time!"

"I just hate reading."

"Ahh – that's a generational thing, are you more of an x-box kind of boy then?"

"No PS3, and it's not that – I just don't like reading, the words don't always make sense."

"In Shakespeare?"

"No – in everything, they get all jumbled up, when I write it does too … I'm not thick though!"

"I never said you were Tim. Don't worry – it'll come OK in the end … have you tried the new Tomb Raider game yet?"

"Which one - PS3? It's not out yet is it?"

"I got an advance copy off my friend – it's brilliant, I'll lend it you once I'm done if you want?"

"Yeah! That'd be great – Thanks Shelagh! Is there any food about – I'm hungry, and I think Dad's forgotten about my lunch …"

"Well he's a busy man Tim, tell you what, you can have my yoghurt now – and I've got my dinner break in an hour – how about I take you down to the canteen for some sausage and chips?"

"Thanks Shelagh – you're the best!"

* * *

Patrick Turner caught the passing midwife by the arm,

"I meant to say – thank you so much for taking Tim down for some food, I was elbow deep in cervix and he just slipped my mind."

"It's fine Doctor, I didn't mind, how is Laura Delaney?"

"Oh fine fine, bloody big baby though – I don't envy her perineum when the time comes!"

"Is this the lady in 3?" Said Cynthia looking up from the file open in front of her,

"Yes." they both answered, turning in towards the desk.

"Have you seen the size of her bump?! That baby's got to be a good 12lb!"

"Nah – I'd say 13 … Shelagh?" Dr Turner replied quietly, with a smile playing on his lips.

"I'll put a fiver on 10 – she looks like all bump and no baby to me."

"Ok – count me in, £5 on 13? Fiver on 12 for you Cynthia?"

"Go on then – I could do with a new pair of shoes!" There was a bumping bang from behind them, and porter, Fred, pulled a trolley filled with computer keyboards into the ward. With a smile he parked up beside the trio.

"Morning all – I've got to install new wipe clean keyboards in every ward. 'Er blimey, did you see that woman I brought in earlier? Size of an elephant – she's going to have fun getting that one out …"

"Oh alright Fred, what's your money on?" Dr Turner said with a raised eyebrow,

"Lets see … 13?"

"I've got 13, Cynthia's on 12 and Shelagh's gone for 10lb."

"Blimey – alright then – fiver on 14, and If I'm right – I don't envy your lots jobs!"

* * *

"Well doctor, £20 for you – and you deserve it, I don't know how you two got that done!" Fred turned and left the ward, £5 poorer, but relentlessly cheerful none the less. Turning to the midwife stood beside him Patrick smiled at her,

"Well done – I feel like an officer and a sergeant the morning after the Some!"

"Which am I?"

"The officer – trust me, you were excellent, well done!"

"Doctor Turner, I know it's not really my place, but I was talking to Tim earlier. I just wondered if you'd ever had him tested for dyslexia? He was just mentioning about finding it hard to read – and I just wondered …"

"It's been mentioned but I never really thought … Good God on highlands – who's that?!" He said nodding towards a white tuniced individual, who was walking backwards out of a side room, as they watched her manage to get her pocket caught on the door handle, which having closed the door slam in her face she managed to disentangle herself with such force that she lurched sideways and propelled herself into the nurses' station where she gripped on for dear life to steady herself. The tall figure of Camilla Brown wandered over to the pair.

"Golly! That was a near miss wasn't it!"

"Ahh – you must be Cynthia's new student? I'm Dr Turner."

"Oh Hullo! Yes – Gosh, that's me, I only scraped a pass on my last placement so it's fairly imperative that I pass this one you know!"

"Really – well I probably wouldn't tell the patients that eh … I'm off for the night Shelagh. Have a good one!"

"Will do – and you Doctor!" She watched the Doctor walk off down the corridor to fetch Tim from the staff room, running a hand through his already messy hair she gave a tired smile,

"Gosh – he's quite a dish isn't he?" she turned to face Camilla Brown,

"You think? Yes I suppose he is, that's his son over there, Tim, sweet boy."

"Oh he's married? Worse luck!"

"No – he's widowed, his wife died about three years ago, it was all very sad, car accident."

"Crikey – how sad!"

* * *

"Here, Shelagh, you seen me lady's fella? He's been gone 40 minutes now – some men, they never learn man. You gotta stick by your girl!"

"Sorry Trixie – I haven't seen him. By the way – how was your night out with your TV presenter?"

"Ahh – all a bit of something and nothing, and far too much nothing and not nearly enough something for my likeing!" Shelagh smiled at her and turned back to the computer, "Ahh – I'll go and find my Lady in 4's fella then!"

As Trixie wandered off on her hunt for the missing partner, Shelagh turned slightly, catching sight of Patrick Turner out of the corner of her eye. He looked tired, he always looked tired but today she could see his shoulders hunched in exhaustion, he had one hand on his forehead propping himself up. He was scrolling through his phone slowly and worriedly, before tossing it down on the desk with a sigh,

"I don't suppose you know any baby sitters do you Shelagh? Mine's off sick and I'm on nights this Saturday – I need someone to keep an eye on Tim … things would be so much easier if …" he tailed off and turned back to the desk.

"Umm I don't, no – but if it's just a question of tea and bed then I could give you a hand if you like?"

"Really!? No – I can't ask that of you … although it would get me out of a bit of a fix I suppose … are you sure?"

"Yes of course, he's a good lad – ummm, here's my address," She said, scribbling the flat number and street down on a post-it note from the desk, "you can drop him off before you start and pick him up in the morning?" Doctor Turner beamed at her, taking the post-it.

"Thank you so much Shelagh, you really are a life saver!" Grabbing his mobile he bounced up and made his way down the corridor towards the staff room. Smiling after him, distracted by her thoughts as she watched his retreating form she was surprised as someone coughed behind her, jumping and turning in her seat she looked at the man stood behind her.

"Good Evening? Can I help?"

"Evening – umm I'm PC Noaks …"

"Right PC Noaks …"

"Oh umm – I had a run in with one of your midwives last week … literally actually, she sort of … ran into me …"

"Let me guess – student Nurse Camillia Brown by any chance?"

"Yes – yes I just wondered if she was about, I just wanted a word …"

"Oh – well she's not on duty today, she's working the Tuesday day shift, so you can probably catch her then, did you want me to pass on a message?"

"Ahh – no – oh well – umm … could you just tell her thank you for the whisky … umm and I'll just see her when I see her."

"Right – good-bye then PC Noaks …"


	2. Chapter 2

**_Good evening!_**

**_I present to you: (Drumroll please) Chapter 2!_**

A collection of short scenes that involve the slow development of Patrick and Shelagh's relationship, very little of any of the other characters in this one I'm afraid - but they will make their way back to the fore in Chapter 3 (Promise)

I will warn you now - this chapter involves a scene that some may find upsetting, I've tried to write it as sensitively as possible, and I hope I've done it justice. I've tried to research it as accurately as possible but if anyone has any issues with that section, feel free to message me and I can make changes or even take down the passage.

**_Thanks for reading: and please review, thank you so much to those of you who already have - it's great to read what you guys think! _**

* * *

_"You've got the words to change a nation__, but you're biting your tongue, you've spent a life time stuck in silence, afraid you'll say something wrong, if no one ever hears it how we gonna learn your song? So come, on come on, come on, come on, you've got a heart as loud as lions, so why let your voice be tamed? …" _Hearing a knock at the door Shelagh turned down the radio in the kitchen and walked over to her front door, it was a little after 8 and she was still in her pyjamas with a cardigan over the top to keep herself warm in the chilly flat.

"Good morning Patrick, come in, come in."

"Thanks Shelagh, was that you singing I just heard?"

"In was a duet between me and Emeli Sande!" She replied with a laugh, leading him into her kitchen. Dr Turner rarely socialised with any of his colleagues outside of work, and he had certainly never seen the inside of any of their homes; Shelagh's small East London flat was nothing like his own Stratford home, but it was nice. Small and cosy and bright, walls were filled with photographs and posters and maps and fliers, every available space was full of memories and colour. He liked it.

"Do you want some tea or coffee or anything – I can probably stretch to toast?"

"Some tea would be wonderful thank you, and thank you so much for watching Tim last night. I really am very very grateful!"

"Ahh – don't be silly, I didn't mind at all. Are you sure you don't want some toast or something, you look dead on your feet." She asked gently, resting a hand on his forearm. He cast an eye down to where her hand lay, she followed his gaze and with a small cough she removed her hand and smiled broadly at him.

"Or I have bacon – I'm sure I could do a bacon butty …"

"Well – I think you may have just read my mind. I'll always say yes to a bacon sandwich! Oh, by the way, I took your advice."

"Oh?" Replied Shelagh, with her head in the fridge hunting out the packet of bacon, before turning to flick on the kettle.

"I rang Tim's school, to ask about the dyslexia - and … apparently they've sent me numerous letters on the subject."

"But how – you said that they hadn't said anything to you?"

"My kitchen table is covered in letters that I've never got round to reading, someone could have drained my bank account, I could have Russian mobsters sending me severed fingers in the post and I wouldn't know about it! I'm perfectly prepared to believe that the school's been sending me letters for the past 6months. I just don't have the time – things were so much easier when Clair was still … about!"

"… It must be hard."

"Yeah – it's not easy, but we get by. It's just hard to find time for everything – sometimes I think I should have been a shop assistant, less money for less responsibility and less shifts!"

"Don't say that – you're a good doctor Patrick, Asda's loss is the NHS's gain!"

"I suppose so, you talk such sense for such a young woman!"

"I'm not _that_ young! I'm old enough to see someone who's good at their job anyhow. Right – do you want red sauce or brown?"

"Just plain actually – I'm a bit of a bacon based maverick."

"Clearly!"

* * *

Shelagh gently held Anna's knees apart and tried to smile encouragingly, it was hard to though, she knew that this wasn't going to be easy. The pain of labour wouldn't be soothed by the joy of a new born baby, this child was dead, in all honesty Anna had known from the moment she stepped into the hospital that her unborn child was long gone, but it had still taken a great deal of counselling from Shelagh and Dr Turner before she agreed that she would give birth to her still born child.

"Just a little bit longer now Anna, I want you to take a deep breath and then when you feel the next contraction I want you to push for me, OK?"

"Yeah … I can do that … it's coming now – I can feel it."

"Ok – gently does it, Dr?"

"Yes – I'm here Shelagh, don't worry."

"Alright then … have a little rest Anna, we've delivered the head. Dr? can you just …?"

"Yes – got it there." He replied,

"What is it? What are you doing?" asked a fearful voice from the head of the bed.

"Don't worry Anna, on your next contraction we're going to turn the baby a little, just to help the shoulders out, and I need Dr Turner's help."

"OK – can I push again, I can feel it coming?"

"Yes – you push when you need to … OK – there we are, Anna your baby's been delivered. A little girl Anna, now I'm just going to clean her up a little bit, and then would you like a hold of her?"

"Yes, yes please … before you clean her, can I just see her?"

"Of course you can Anna."

Shelagh carefuly walked over to the side, a laid the tiny child down on the side, carefully licking her lips she steeled herself before carefully cleaning down the babies skin as gently as she could. She started as she felt a hand on her back, turning to see its owner she was faced by Patrick Turner.

"Are you alright Shelagh?"

"I'll be fine thank you, I'm … fine."

"Alright then, well once you've finished up here go and get yourself some fresh air, Julie and I can deliver the placenta."

"No, honestly, I'd rather see this through – I insist Patrick."

"Right, ok then, but promise that after that – you'll take a break?"

"I promise." Turning around, she met the doctors eyes she have him a nod, before she quietly stepped over to Anna's bedside and gently laid the small baby in its mother's arms. She saw the raw love that only childbirth can bring, and saw the harsh pain that only the loss of a child can bring.

"Anna, in a little bit, you're going to have to deliver the placenta – now I can help, and it'll be reasonably quick, but you will have a few mild contractions and have to do a little bit of pushing. But don't worry, it won't be too bad – I promise."

"And Shelagh always keeps her promises." Said a voice from behind her, she turned and gave him a small smile.

* * *

"Can I steal a cigarette?"

"I didn't know you smoked?"

"I haven't since I was about 21, but it seems appropriate – thank you."

"What happened at 21 then?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I left university, you know what it's like when you're a student: a bottle of Blackthorn and 10 Lambert for under a fiver – that was every one of my Friday nights for 3 years."

"I'm seeing you in a whole new light! You were fantastic in there you know, calm, collected, supportive, pragmatic. Anna couldn't have asked for a better midwife today."

"Thank you, you needn't be so nice though you know – it's just my job!"

"No Shelagh, you're selling yourself short -"

"- that's not hard – I'm about 5"2!"

"Don't deflect - accept a compliment, you are far better that 80% of the midwives I've worked with, you're so committed, so … fantastic at everything you do in your work, and the worst thing is that you don't seem to realise it!"

"Oh look – it's the naughty kids smoking behind the bike sheds!"

"Evening Cynthia, how are you?" Asked Shelagh, jumping slightly in surprise as Cynthia Miller had snuck up to the niche beside the bins where they were sheltering.

"Oh not too bad, how was the day shift?"

"Pretty awful, Dr Turner and I had to deliver a stillborn, a little girl."

"Oh lord, I'm sorry – you both must be exhausted!"

"Oh I'll live, I think I owe Shelagh a drink though, more than a drink – a distillery perhaps. Where's your haphazard student?"

"Camilla, oh you haven't heard then? About the romance of the century?"

"No – who's her … who is it?"

"A policeman – the one she knocked over in A&E on her first day, apparently it's all going quite well."

* * *

"So …" Said Patrick, placing a bottle of cider down in front of Shelagh with a smile, "Tell me about yourself."

"About me? There's not much to tell to be honest, I grew up in Aberdeen ummm … I trained as a nurse up there, I moved down to London with my boyfriend at the time … we split up, I retrained as a midwife and … that's about it …"

"You should have been an KGB spy – you don't give much away do you … tell me about you, your likes, your family – I don't know, just something other than your CV."

"Right … umm … I have a cat called Bernadette, an older Sister Molly, and a younger brother Michael. I like … to bake, umm … I like P.J. Wodehouse books, my favourite film is the Poseidon Adventure … is that good enough for you? What about you?"

"Three older brothers, I think they tormented me a bit when I was young – I grew up in Blackpool, studied biochemistry at university, and then realised that all that equipped me for was teaching – so I started a medical degree, hated it – until I did my rotation on obstetrics and I fell in love, and once I'd found my place in the world of medicine that was it – I was sold!"

"So you never fancied the easy life of a GP?"

"Lord no, no I was never in for an easy life. How about you? Did you not fancy a nice quiet ward, maternity is never quiet."

"No – I enjoy it all, the noise and the long hours – it's all worthwhile, I like to see new-born babies, it's pain and joy and love and it's all so pure, nothing is so … hopeful as a new born baby, they've their whole life before them and whatever happens to them, in that snapshot of time I help with – they are … perfect and full of possibility!"

"That's beautiful, it really is – and _that _is why you're a fantastic midwife Shelagh. It's like I always said to Clair – if you truly believe in what it is you're doing, if you do your job and live your life because it makes you happy then nothing can go wrong. You might have a dead end job, that you hate and pays peanuts – but if you do it to look after your family – then things can't go far wrong. Clair always liked that …"

"Do you miss her?"

"Of course … everyday, but we get by. Things can be a little tricky between me and Tim though … I work long hours, and Clair was always so much better than me at talking to him, at doing all those … parenty things."

"I'm sure that's not true, it's always hard being a single parent – however it comes about. And Tim's a good boy, bright and kind, you're lucky – and I'm sure the only reason he gets annoyed about your long hours is because he loves you. My Dad was a tailor, and I hated how hard he worked and that I hardly ever saw him when he had orders on – because I loved him so much and it hurt me not seeing him."

"He must have been a spectacular man to inspire such strong feelings."

"Not really – he was just a dad really."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Good evening fan ficers of the UK, Euprope, Earth and beyond!_**

**_Welcome into the world Chapter 3, some momentary tension and a little development for Turnadette! Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews – it means so much to me!_**

**_Hope you enjoy, and please review_**

* * *

_We're on a road to nowhere, come on inside, takin' that ride to nowhere, we'll take that ride. __I'm feelin' okay this mornin', and you know, we're on the road to paradise, here we go … _"Here we go …" Stopping before she hit the chorus, Shelagh surveyed the half-finished jobs that filled her flat. There was a chocolate sponge cooling on the counter waiting to be iced, a pile of washing that she was in the middle of sorting through, and her laptop was open where she was trying, in vein, to compose an email to her Father back home explaining why she didn't have time to come home to meet her newly born nephew.

Throwing down the pile of folded t-shirts onto the sofa, she went back to the cake to see if it was cool enough yet, having decided that it was - she picked up the bowl of chocolate buttercream and began to spread it as evenly as she could with a kitchen knife. It was times like this that she thought, not for the first time, that she could really use a better variety of kitchen utensils. The cake was for Tim, it had been sweet of Patrick to invite her round for his son's birthday tea, although he had insisted that it was all Tim's idea. He was a nice man she reflected, nice and kind and funny – and there weren't that many men like that in the world. Jumping as she heard a knock at the door and dropping a wodge of icing on the floor as she did so, she swore under her breath and walked down the hallway, not recognising the dark shadow behind the dappled front door glass, she opened the door with caution, keeping it on the safety chain.

"Oh God Shelagh – I'm sorry but I didn't know where else to go …"

"Doctor Turner? What are you doing here? Come in!"

"Thank you – I'm sorry to come round so late, but I just couldn't think where else to go. Have you seen Tim? He's gone!"

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"I mean I went to his bed room, just to check on him and he was gone -" He stepped on, into the kitchen slowly, looking distractedly about him, "- oh God, Shelagh I'm sorry, you're clearly busy I shouldn't have come. I just didn't know where else to go …"

"It's fine, Patrick – I promise, it's fine! Sit down and tell me everything – here have some water."

"Thank you." he took a deep break and took a sip of water before carrying on. "Tim went to bed at about 9, and I was downstairs in the kitchen … I didn't hear anything, but I had the radio on so I suppose I might not have heard him come downstairs … and then about ½ an hour ago I went to go to bed, and I could see his bedroom lamp was still on … so I went in to switch it off and his bed was empty. Should I have called the police do you think? I just didn't know what to do … and I know that you two talk and I just … I don't know I just thought you might be able to help. I've already lost Clair – I can't lose him as well, he thinks he's so streetwise but he's only 9 Shelagh and I'm scared …" Shelagh watched him as he shoulders slumped and the tears started to fall, gingerly she extended an arm, and covered his hand with her own, before standing up off the kitchen stool and nervously but impulsively drawing him in for a hug. She felt his arms around her back and his fingers digging in as he gripped her jumper in desperation,

"Right, first things first – where might he go? Do you two have any special places you go? Any friends he has that he might go to?" she gently withdrew from his arms, and sat back down, she watched the doctor dry his eyes on his sleeve before he continued.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this. Umm – no, I mean he has friends in school that he sees, but I know all their parents, they'd telephone me if Tim turned up on their doorstep at eleven at night … we don't really have special places for the two of us – we go the park and things, but they're not really special places for us you know."

"What … what about places he used to go to Clair? Was there anywhere she used to take him?"

"No, I don't think so – we went places as a family, but nowhere … Shoreditch?"

"Shorditch?"

"He could … but why would he? Clair used to take him to Shoreditch station when we was little, because he loved the trains … it's where we met, she used to take him there when he couldn't sleep and tell him about how we met … but then they closed the station years ago, 7 or 8 years ago … he wouldn't have gone there would he? Would he?"

"Well, it's a start. Let's go and look – do you want me to come?"

"Would you? I'd be grateful – I might lose my mind if I'm on my own … thank you."

* * *

Patrick Turner passed a cup of tea across to Shelagh, he smile gratefully at her – she really was spectacular, giving up her night to drive around Stratford hunting for his son, the son of a colleague – someone she barely knew. She was so calm, knowing what to do in a crisis as he had panicked … she was beautiful. He coughed up a mouthful of tea that had entered his windpipe as that thought had cropped into his head.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, possibly just too tired to do swallowing … which is a pity because I really want some tea … sorry I'm babbling, I'm just so relived we found him."

"It's ok, I'm sure I'll forgive you, will he be alright do you think?"

"I imagine so, I know why he went – but I just wish he'd asked me, I'd have taken him in a heartbeat. Why do you think he didn't ask me?"

"Maybe because he knows your still mourning, and he was worried it would hurt you to go and sit at the station. Maybe."

"Maybe. Thank you Shelagh, I really can't thank you enough, you've been so … spectacular, really … spectacular!"

"Thank you, but you know that's really not necessary, I was just … doing what needed to be done you know. I should be off, it's late – thanks for the tea."

"Oh you're very welcome, I'll show you out. Well, good night Shelagh." Unsure of himself, he took a step forward and aiming for a friendly kiss on the cheek, he found himself drawn to her lips accidentally, regretting the kiss the moment they had separated she swallowed hard and stared at the ground. "I'm sorry – that was totally inappropriate …"

Reeling from the kiss, Shelagh took a step backwards and turned into the cool night air, she licked her lips slowly, feeling the place he had previously occupied with his own lips.

"It's fine, inappropriate is a strong word …"

"It was wrong of me, I've embarrassed you – I'm sorry."

"You haven't embarrassed me Patrick … but, you've had a stressful night – and I think you're still grieving over Clair. I'm not turning my back on you because of you, but because time is a funny thing. Good night Patrick."

* * *

"'Ey, wam, how's your day goin'? You look beat!"

"Hi, oh I'm fine, tired that's all."

"Ooo – you bin up to no good?"

"Nothing so exciting. Can I ask you something Trixie?"

"Of course baby girl."

"If there was someone that you liked, but they were … still in love with someone else, even if they liked you too. What would you do?"

"In love with someone else how?"

"I don't know, someone … they'd split up with … or something."

"Hmmm – tricky one my love, there aint no easy answer for that you know. If it were me, I'd leave it."

"Even if you thought it would make you both happy?"

"If I had a fella in love with some other girl, even if he were crazy for me he'd still be in love with girl, you know? It'd all be grand, and then it'd all you south! After joy is sorrow as my Mama used to say. Why'd ya ask, you having heart troubles?"

"No no – I just wondered … something I was thinking about."

"Well don't you be thinking too hard now, or you'll be in trouble. I gotta go check on my lady, I gotta feeling she's gonna be a quick un!"

* * *

"Julie, can I have a word?"

"Yes, come in – here, what do you think I should do with my hair for Sarah's wedding - mother of the brides are meant to look smart, but I just seem to be achieving matronly."

"I don't know, maybe ask Trixie? She's better at that sort of stuff than me."

"Mmm – maybe, I just want to do Sarah proud. Look nice for the wedding next week."

"I'm sure you will … Julie I want to talk to you -" Interrupted by the telephone on Julie's desk ringing the two women paused and glanced at the offending object, wearily Julie glanced down at the caller ID, before raising a finger apologetically to her friend.

"Hold that thought – I need to answer this one … It's from the a social worker I'm dealing with on one of my under 16s … just a tick! … Mandy, hi – yes it's Julie … I'm actually right in the middle of … oh … right … yep … yep … no, yes of course … and she's … yep … OK … right. Oh dear, well I'll bear that in mind. Right, yes well thanks for ringing Mandy, bye now."

"Something bad?"

"No no, just … awkward. Sorry Shelagh – I need to go and deal with this, I'll speak to you later ok, you are alright aren't you? There's nothing seriously wrong is there?"

"No, it's just something on my mind."

"Don't worry – you're a star, I'm sure whatever it is you'll be ok, just keep on being your wonderful self!"

* * *

"Hi Julie?"

"Hi Shelagh, sorry to ring you so late, I hope I didn't wake you?"

"No no, I was just having a shower, what can I do for you?"

"I was just checking my diary, and I've realised that next Monday I'm double booked. It's Sarah's wedding and I'm meant to be going to this staffing meeting at the NHS ELC, with Dr Turner. I'd ask one of the other Sisters but I think you'd be perfect for it. I mean you know as well as I do all the staffing issues we're having – half my bloody budget's going on bank nurses at the moment! Please say yes Shelagh, other whys it'll have to be Sister Evangelina and I'm not sure she's got the diplomacy to pull this off!"

"… Of course I will, I'd be glad to."

"Shelagh, you are an angel - I'll make sure you get some cake back from the wedding!"

"Alright then, goodnight."

"Night-night" With a sigh, Shelagh put the handset back in the cradle and walked across the bedroom to find a pair of clean pyjamas. Having finally located a vest and pair of shorts she made her way through into the lounge, collecting a mug of tea on the way. Sighing she flopped down on the sofa and began channel hopping vaguely between a bad 70's sitcom and the news. Hearing a mewling noise she looked over to the window, the cat was sat on the windowsill between a photograph of Shelagh holding her niece in Duthie park winter garden back home, and a battered tobacco tin of her fathers.

"What are you looking at Bernadette?" She asked the cat, who was watching the night intently from the 10th floor of Shelagh's high rise flat. Every night the cat would sit on the windowsill and watch the estate below, she never knew what Bernadette was looking at – the mishmash of young families and elderly residents that made up the residents couldn't be that interesting. A long time ago someone had told her that the estate was built on tenement blocks that had been demolished in the early 60's, they may have been overcrowded and filthy – but Shelagh wasn't sure that her concrete block that reached up into the heavens was any better.

She was lucky, when people heard she lived on an east London council estate the assumed she lived in a black pit of gang violence and drug dealing – when in reality it was a small quiet estate with her friends, and her adopted English family of neighbours. Hearing her voice, Bernadette turned around and leapt gently onto the sofa, padding her way over to Shelagh's lap – the cat stepped onto her owners legs and curled up into a loose ball, her tail flickering against her owners stomach.

"What am I going to do eh? He's lovely … but that doesn't really change anything does it? He still loves her, more than he's ever going to love me – or anyone else. Oh dear, I'm getting maudlin, shall we go to bed? Unless you were watching this? No - you've got better taste than that don't you … come on. Time for bed!"


	4. Chapter 4

**_Hello – good evening/morning/night (time zone dependant)_**

**_We have chapter 4, it's a bit of a sweet one, based on episode 6 in essence, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks you so so much for all your lovely reviews, they mean so much to me and it's lovely reading each one._**

**_Please continue to review - and thanks for reading!_**

**_Further A/N –_**

**_1. My spell check recognised Ribena, but not Quinoa which I'm oddly pleased about, _**

**_2. If anyone particularly cares – the ELC that I keep on mentioning is a made up health board, it stands for East London and the City, which is the health board that Poplar would fall under … if it existed._**

**_3. Mr Jensen of the ELC is named after the number 1 most popular surname in Denmark, to mark their success in the Eurovision song contest last week! _**

* * *

_Last night I was dreaming__ I was locked in a prison cell, when I woke up I was screaming calling out your name. Whoa and the judge and the jury, they all put the blame on me, they wouldn't go for my story, they wouldn't hear my plea. Only you can set me free –_

"'Cause I'm guilty, guilty as a girl can be, come on baby can't you see. I stand accused of love in the first degree …" Shelagh sighed, and turned down the radio as she surveyed her appearance in the mirror on the inside of her locker for the umpteenth time.

"Morning – you're sounding very tuneful this morning!"

"Hi John, sorry, did I disturb you?"

"No no, It's ok – you're good, what's with the uniform?" He asked nodding towards Shelagh's choice to wear her outdated former midwives uniform. Normally she was in scrubs, after an NHS directive 3 years previously, but stashed away in a drawer was her old hospital blue dress, complete with black belt.

"I'm attending this bloody ELC meeting in place of Julie, she's at Sarah's wedding – and I thought the ELC usually like us to look like proper nurses, as opposed to functional ones. Do I look OK? I'm wearing a bit of mascara."

"Shock horror! Stop the front pages – Shelagh McDonald wears mascara!"

"I didn't want to look too … tarty?"

"Not much danger of that! Is it just you going then?"

"No, Patrick Turner's coming with me, well apparently, I haven't seen him this morning."

"Oh – I just saw him, he's in the car park."

"I'll go and catch him then – wish me luck!"

"You don't need luck – you'll be fabulous!"

* * *

Shelagh caught sight of him, before the doctor had seen her, he was leant back against his car smoking as he scrolled down his phone with a small smile on his face, instinctively he turned and looked over towards the staff entrance, catching sight of Shelagh.

"Shelagh, I was expecting Julie …"

"It's Sarah's wedding today – she asked me to cover for her."

"Of course, yes, well that's smashing of course it is … I was just looking at a couple of pictures from Tim's birthday … he loved the cake but we were sorry you couldn't come."

"It's a pity yes … shall we go?"

"Of course of course, sorry – here let me get the door for you."

"Thanks ... so how was the birthday tea?"

"Oh excellent – yes, we had a nice day, watched Doctor Who, ate your cake and had a Chinese delivered. He's going to one of those laser-quest places next Friday with some of his school friends – I'm dreading it, I'll be left sat in that depressing burger bar place in the foyer with a group of middle aged people, all of us wishing we were at home watching the cricket."

"It can't be that bad!"

"Oh believe me – it is! Making small talk with people who you see for about 4 minutes a day at the school gates is nigh of impossible, you have nothing in common bar your children are the same age, and we all live in the same borough. You know most of them drive Chelsea tractors and give their children quinoa for lunch."

"I take it you don't make Tim quinoa and pepper salads for his lunch then?"

"Bloody hell no, we're more of a Monster much and Penguin type of family, and if I'm feeling particularly middle class, he might get some sugar-free Ribena too! Now, have you given any thought to what we're going to say in there?"

"Not really, Julie just kind of landed it on me – not that I mind, but it's not really my area of expertise you know."

"I think it might be you know, you're my secret weapon I think Shelagh. You're on the front line, these cuts are affecting you and I harder than it's affecting them – behind their desks their not feeling the pinch. You're my little … Emmeline Pankhurst! Out, on the front line – seeing the day to day workings of the NHS."

"I'm not sure … oh is this it? I always assumed the ELC'd be a bit grander."

"They might be our Lords and Masters but it's still the NHS, loving the uniform by the way."

"Mmm? Oh right yeah, it's a bit old."

"Suits you."

* * *

"Dr Turner, I am trying to be civil but you are making very difficult. Funds are stretched to bursting point, now the health secretary is in the middle of trying to get emergency loans out to struggling health boards, funds are on their way. However, unless your hospital stops haemorrhaging money then there is little we can do, you have some of the highest A&E waiting times in the south of England, and more of your annual budget goes on emergency care than almost any other health board in England."

"You can't really be serious?"

"Nurse McDonald?"

"We serve the East end of London, we have some of the highest rates of gang related crimes in the UK – of course our waiting times are long and our expenditure high! We work with the most densely populated boroughs in London, the fact that we have an A&E full of drunks and stabbing victims does not mean that our maternity department should suffer!"

"Exactly! You say that these emergency funds are coming, coming to where? To the privileged Chelsea and Westminster? To the sexy, crowd pleasing Great Ormond street? Not to us though, because our patients aren't middle class, because almost 60% of children born in our hospital have one or both parents born overseas – and that's not popular!"

Silence filled the small office, Mr Jensen smoothed a damp hand over his badly concealed bald patch and licked his lips before lifting the phone on his desk and pressing a button he waited a moment before speaking, twisting his wedding ring up and down his finger as he did so.

"Sarah – can you bring my milk in please, thank you … it's my ulcer," He said, turning back to the pair sat in front of him, "I give up smoking to stop myself getting lung cancer, and I end up getting an ulcer because of the stress of giving up! Why do I bother … ah, Sarah, thank you." he continued, as a young woman stepped into the office and presented him with a glass of milk before turning to leave. "Now; Dr Turner, Nurse McDonald – I appreciate what you're saying, but my hands really are tied. However what I can do is put your hospital at the top of the emergency staff fund list, the emergency fund isn't a great deal I'm afraid – but what it will do is enable you to take on another member of staff, with a little left over to allow you to continue to take on bank staff without draining your existing budget. Have we a deal?"

Shelagh and Patrick exchanged a glance, he raised an eyebrow at her, questioning. Why was he asking her she asked herself, this was not her area of expertise, she didn't know about this sort of thing. And then she thought about what he had said in the car, about how she was his secret weapon, about how as she worked on the front line she was in fact best to tell poor balding Mr Jensen exactly what was what. She swallowed hard and turned to Patrick, giving her a small supportive smile she took a deep breath,

"I think that that's just what we need. Doctor?"

"I agree."

* * *

There was a click of the doctors lighter, and a pause as he inhaled the smoke,

"You were magnificent Shelagh, you really were. Had you prepared all that?"

"No, I was just getting so annoyed that he wasn't seeing behind the statistics! I did almost feel sorry for him and his ulcer though." she said with a laugh, taking the proffered half smoked cigarette of Patrick.

"Well I suppose giving up smoking, and his job would be quite stressful!"

"I don't think it was that, did you not see? His secretary, her blouse was miss-buttoned up, and when he was playing with his wedding ring – there was no tan line, so he takes it off regularly. He's been boffing his secretary!"

"Blimey – have you thought about doing an ITV crime drama?!"

"Women's intuition! You learn to be observant, shall we go?"

"Good idea … Shealgh, you know I really did want to apologise for the other night, I mean coming round at God-only-knows what time, and then when I … I'm just sorry that's all. It was just the emotion of the night and … I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising Patrick. It's fine, I didn't mind, and I'm not offended – I wasn't offended … look if this party of Tim's really going to be so dire then why don't I come along too – just to keep you company?"

"I'd like that – if you're sure?"

"I am … I'm sure."

* * *

"So Clair, what do you think? Am I being a fool? She's not a bit like you, you were much nicer than her – she's got fire in her belly, she won't be knocked back, and I like that. But I think you'd have liked her … she's funny and so kind, she really cares about things. I see that – I see her put her heart and soul into life, that's what I need I think – without you it's so hard to care sometimes but she makes me care, she gives me such passion. And she really is beautiful, blue eyes just like yours – I still remember your eyes, I loved your eyes, and her smile – you hated your smile didn't you, I never knew why. When she smiles you can see that it's full of joy. Oh God – is this really awful? She's much younger than me, but when I'm with her I don't care, all I care about is her, making her happy because she makes me feel so happy, and lord knows it's been a long time since I felt happy. But I'm scared Clair, what if admitting my feelings for her destroys everything, my friendship with her for a start, but what if it destroys everything I ever had with you? I remember the first time I saw you on the train, that book you were reading and your dark hair, even that jumper you were wearing … I remember it all. And I'm scared of losing it … oh God Clair, what am I going to do?" With a sigh, Patrick Turner closed his eyes against the photograph of Clair that he kept beside his bed and turned over, looking at the side of the bed that his wife used to occupy he took a moment to watch her pillow, covered in the pillowcase that he had never had the heart to change, it didn't smell of her shampoo any more but he still hadn't changed it. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Good evening - (or morning if you like, given that it's 2:30am and while I combine writing, smoking and watching People Like Us - call me classy!) _**

**_First off, thank you to you all who've reviewed thus far, you are all fantastic human beings and I love you all, and each one of your reviews make me stupidly happy. (Although all your praise is really putting the pressure on!)_**

**_If you would be good enough to carry on reviewing I'd be very grateful! I hope you enjoy this latest instalment - I will warn you that it does include a bit of swearing - so if you really don't like swearing then I'd skip the opening section if I were you._**

**_Read and enjoy!_**

* * *

"Holy mother of God – this baby is trying to kill me! I can't do this any more … I've changed my mind, I don't want him any more."

"It's a bit late in the day for that Lisa, now trust me, you're going to be fine. I know it's hurting but we're on the home straight now."

"How do you know? Have you got kids?"

"No … not yet …"

"Then how the fuck would you know? Get me some fucking epidurals!"

"OK Lisa, it's too late for an epidural now – you're too far along, keep going with the gas and air for now, and I want you to take some nice deep breaths for me. Lisa … Lisa look at me, you are going to get through this, but you need to calm down because it's not good for your baby. Look, hold onto your boyfriend's hand, squeeze it hard, and take some deep breaths."

"Oh fuck you! I just need this baby to get out!" With a guttural roar, the pregnant woman bent forward on all forwards and cried, her perplexed boyfriend looked terrified. He tried to hold her hand but she shook him off, and then made a grab for his wrist, digging her nails into the thin skin on the inside of his wrist he gritted his teeth. "This is what you've done to me Chris – you are never coming near me again!"

"Lisa," Interrupted Shelagh, emerging from her bent double position at the end of the bed, "I need you to stop pushing for me, just stop a moment, now I can see baby's head, so on the next contraction I want you to give me a big push, right into your bottom. Try not so shout out, I want you to put all your energy into the push OK?"

"I can't do this Shelagh … Jesus Christ there a design fault here somewhere – why is it such a small hole?"

"Because motherhood is only for the strongest people, and Lisa, I know that you're strong enough to do this."

"You think?"

"I know."

"It's coming now …" the mother said through gritted teeth, bending down, Shelagh placed her hands at the baby's crowning head gently supporting it for when it came out, with a deep loud breath from the head of the bed, the head began to slowly emerge from the birth canal.

"Nice long deep push now Lisa, you're doing so well, I've got the baby's head out now." Peering around the woman's side she gave a reassuring smile, "That's the first part over! Well done, you are so so close to the end now. Now – next contraction, we're going to have the shoulders out and from there it's easy, baby should then just slide out. Just tell me when your next contraction's coming and very soon you'll have your baby."

"What does he look like?"

"Umm … he looks like a newborn baby, a bit squashed – but other whys fine. Ok – are you ready?"

"Yup … this is it!"

"Deep breath and nice long deep push for me Lisa." Holding the baby's head in one hand, and using the other to support the emerging shoulders, Shelagh carefully extracted the baby from its small safe cocoon inside it's mother and out into the bright lights of the delivery suit. Waiting for the baby to make its first cry out, and, with a smile she lifted the tiny child up, allowing Lisa to turn over and lie down on her back before she gently carried the baby up and rested him on his mothers chest.

"He's beautiful – Chris look at him, he's perfect." In Shelagh's experience no parent ever looked at their newborn baby and declared what an ugly beast it was, even when they were covered in gore, squashed, and lopsided from the forceps every parent looked at their newborn baby and thought that they were the most beautiful creature ever to grace the planet. "I am so sorry – for everything I said to you Shelagh, you were wonderful. I'm sorry!"

"Oh it's alright – I've had far far worse said to me in the past! Part of the job description. Chris, do you want to cut the umbilical cord?"

"No! Jesus no – I might hurt him …"

"You won't hurt him, I'm just going to clamp it and then you can cut it, but only if you want to."

"Go on babe? Do it – after all that you might not have another chance."

"OK – what do I do?"

"Here you go, here's the scissors, just go ahead and cut away."

"Like this …?"

"Yep – you're doing fine, there we are. He's free, well done both of you, well done."

* * *

Running a hand along the rail of clothes in her wardrobe Shelagh put the toothbrush into her mouth to free both her hands for the task ahead. She wasn't the kind of girl who had stacks of clothes, reams of shoes and an outfit for every occasion, but she hoped that somewhere over the years she would have acquired something suitable. Were jeans and a t-shirt too casual? Or were they just right? Should she look like she had grabbed something off the back of a chair? Or should she look like she had thought it through? And did it matter? Flicking through the collection of blouses and t-shirts and tops and dresses her fingers fell on a tunic she had never worn, her sister had persuaded her to buy it a few years back and it'd never quite fitted the bill. It was navy, not too long, ¾ length sleeves perhaps it was right. Sitting down on her bed she tossed the top to one side and leant behind her to pick up Bernadette, who was asleep on one of the pillows on her bed.

"What do you think Bernadette? What do you think of that top that Molly made me get? Yay or Nay? What should I wear with it do you think? How about those jeans? Hmmm – good choice Lady B!" Throwing her toothbrush onto the bedside table she hopped up and rootled through her underwear drawer – before pausing and wondering if it was over thinking if she tried to wear a matching bra and knickers. A time check told her that she needed to get a move on, having got home after the night shift she had meant to have a quick 4 hour nap and get up with a few hours to kill – but tiredness had over taken her and she had woken far later than intended. So her plans for a leisurely time getting ready had turned into the quickest shower in history and a mad dash for the bowling alley that hosted the laser-quest centre. Despite her fears about being late, she was locking up her bicycle when Patrick's car pulled up into the car park. She unclipped her helmet and shook her hair out, running a nervous hand through it to smooth it out.

"Hi Tim, Patrick. looking forward to your party?"

"Yeah! Everyone's coming – it's going to be great. Thanks for coming, are you going to play?"

"No no – my aim's terrible, I'm just here to keep your Dad company." distracted by the arrival of another car Tim darted off to see one of his friends, turning to Patrick, Shelagh smiled. "So I made it – if you still need the company."

"Always! Some of this lot are total bores, that man in that car there – he's an accountant, at his son's birthday I was treated to a two hour lecture on trade tax, I didn't know that there was even that much to know about trade tax! Shall we go in? Tim," He called behind himself. "Come inside once the others have arrived yeah? Good lad."

* * *

"I like your top."

"I didn't think men noticed that sort of thing?"

"I was married for 10 years, I was well trained."

"What was she like – if you don't mind me asking."

"No at all, Clair was lovely, I mean she was just nice – couldn't ever be rude to anyone, which actually made her quite hard to live with sometimes. The endlessly sympathy and understanding meant that trying to argue was incredibly hard work. Ha – I suppose it was being a primary school teacher, she spent so much time finger painting and sorting out who stole who's Pokémon cards that she became incapable of ever being really annoyed. She would have liked you – same sense of humour I think. You know … people think that once a loved one's gone that it gets better but it never really does, it all just gets buried under other emotions, it's like being a recovering alcoholic, however long it's been, however much of your day you don't think about it all it takes is a glimpse of a bottle of beer and it occupies every part of your brain … a perfume they used to wear, a book they loved – even just seeing a television program they watched once and suddenly you can't stop thinking about them. At first I wished that it'd been me in the car when it crashed – not her, because it would have been easier to have died than live without her. I still haven't changed the pillowcase – I used to be able to smell her shampoo on it, not anymore but I still haven't got the heart to change it … I'm sorry – I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"It's alright – I don't mind, sometimes it's good to talk things through. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love, not after my last boyfriend. The smell of his aftershave still makes me feel sick, which is unfortunate – it's a pretty common one, the number of times I've wanted to douse fathers to be down with Febreeze! He was a drinker, but I always knew that – I thought he was great. I thought he loved me, I thought he was a nice guy – he was an artist, looking for someone to pay the rent, cook him food and have sex with him. And I was foolish enough to go along with it all, he seemed so bohemian and different and I could never quite believe that he had picked me, of course he hadn't picked me, he had about three other girls on the go at the time."

"Didn't?"

"Sorry?"

"You said that you – _didn't_ think that you'd ever fall in love since your ex …"

"Did I?"

"You did – did you mean to?"

"Yes – I think I did."

* * *

Patrick gently closed his sons door and turning towards the airing cupboard he felt around until he found a clean pillow case, he smoothed it out against his stomach and carefully walked over to his own bedroom. The window was open and the air was cool in the room, carefully he stepped over to Clair's side of the bed, taking a deep breath he looked over at her photograph on his side,

"I hope you think I'm doing the right thing. I think I am, I think it's time for me to do this, don't you?" taking a deep breath, and like ripping off a plaster he quickly took the pillow case off of the pillow and replaced it with the fresh one. Unsure of what to do, he held onto the old one, he sat down onto the edge of the bed and balling the pillowcase up against his lap he closed his eyes and thought of Clair and then he thought of Shelagh and he knew that he had done the right thing. With a small smile he folded up the pillow case and placed it carefully into the washing basket next to his wardrobe.

"I did the right thing Clair, I know I did. Goodnight love."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Aghh – I'm a terrible human being who let's work get on top of her and doesn't keep up to date with her writing! So I'm sorry, thank you so so much for all your lovely lovely reviews, you're all wonderful, I am snowed under with shifts at the moment so my update'll be less often than before, but I will try and keep up and I havn't forgotten about you all!_**

**_This chapter the Turnerdette magic really kicks off and hopefully is the start of something lovely!_**

**_Further A/N: just in case anyone was particularly wondering the songs at the start of each chapter that Shelagh's either listening to or singing are all just random songs that are on my ipod, that I felt either related to the story or were a good way to kick off a chapter, but I've listed them here if anyone cares!_**

* * *

**_1. __The Hoosiers – Cops and Robbers_**

**_2. __Emeli Sande – Read all about it_**

**_3. __Talking Heads – Road to nowhere_**

**_4. __Bananarama – Love in the first degree_**

**_5. __– No song – _**

**_6. __Pitch Perfect – Cup song_**

* * *

_"I __got my ticket for the long way 'round__, two bottle whiskey for the way, and I sure would like some sweet company, And I'm leaving tomorrow, what-do-ya say? When I'm gone, when I'm gone, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone_ …. _You're gonna miss me by my hair__, you're gonna miss me everywhere, oh, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone."_

"Going somewhere?" Shelagh started, she had been staring intently at the slowly revolving Tupperware tub of pasta bake in the staffroom microwave. Oblivious to anyone else entering the other whys empty room, she had carried on singing away to her ipod, hypnotised by her food cooking. Patrick had crept in and laid a hand on her shoulder, bringing her out of reverie,

"Sorry what was that Patrick?"

"The song – you planning on disappearing off somewhere?"

"Oh no no – nothing like that, world of my own you know."

"Good, because you're right, I'd miss you if you went. Listen umm I was wondering if you wanted to go for a meal? If you wanted to – don't feel obliged or anything! It just seems like every time I ever see you, you're either searching for my AWOL son, or sat in a bowling alley … so I was just wondering …"

"Go on then, when were you thinking?"

"I don't know, are you free tonight? I mean I'm not in tomorrow and neither are you … so?"

"Tonight? You're certainly a in the moment man … tonight'd be fine"

"Wonderful – sounds like the perfect plan."

* * *

Patrick Turner opened up his wallet, pulling out £20 he handed it over to Hannah, she looked up from a mobile momentarily and gave a brief smile and pushed the note into her jeans pocket before turning back to her mobile screen,

"So – I shouldn't be back too late, I mean 10 or 11 maybe? Will that be alright do you think Hannah?"

"Yeah yeah – that's fine."

"Right … sorry for calling you at such notice, it's just that Stacey's ill and she recommended you … you have babysat before?"

"Yeah yeah – all the time." the blond teenager replied without looking up from her mobile phone,

"Right – well there's a frozen pizza in the freezer if you want it, and my number's by the kettle if you need anything, but there shouldn't be any issues."

"Yeah – bye then Mr Taylor."

"Turner, it's Tur … oh never mind, 'night Tim – just another ½ an hour and then I want you in bed please!" he called over Hannah's shoulder, before casting a quick look around his front door reluctantly, hoping it would still be there when he returned, he walked briskly over to his car. Stacey was usually so reliable, polite and good with Tim, so her recommendation of her cousin Hannah hadn't concerned him when she'd called in sick. But having met the cousin in question he was now filled with doubts, but needs must, he was determined to meet up with Shelagh that night, it was starting to worry him how much he thought about her – not, he hoped, in the kind of way that would lead to a police investigation and her body being found in a quarry. But in that as he had so often in the past turned to show a funny article to his wife, forgetting that she had gone, he now turned to point out a joke to Shelagh when she wasn't there, although why he should do that was beyond him, since he had never lived with her or indeed spent any considerable time with her in which he told her jokes – and yet, and yet! He smiled to himself as he stopped at the roundabout leading him over to her side of London, after a moment he slipped into the steady stream of cars and took the second exit towards her road. Radio 2 was on faintly to keep him company and Simon Mayo was wittering away about nothing in particular as a song came on the radio, recognising its strains he turned it up a little.

"_You've got the words to change a nation but you're biting your tongue, you've spent a life time stuck in silence afraid that you'll say something wrong …."_

He had heard Shelagh sing it some time ago he was sure, it was a nice song, although he had no idea who the girl singing it was, perhaps she had told him? He couldn't recall,

"_I wanna sing, I wanna shout, I wanna scream till the words dry out, so put it in all of the papers, I'm not afraid they can read all about it"_

Emily something perhaps? Emilia? He couldn't remember either way, he drove carefully through the estate pulling up at the bottom of Shelagh's high rise just as she came out of the doors at the bottom. He saw her a second before she saw him and got to enjoy the look on her face before she broke into a smile on seeing him, from his mother he had learnt the joy of watching someone's face as they are thinking to themselves, he recalled seeing a girl on the tube, staring blankly at her reflection on the opposite window – oblivious to her surrounding and lost in her own thoughts until she suddenly broke into a smile as a happy memory popped into her head, and left her smiling quietly to herself for the rest of the journey.

"Patrick hi, thanks for picking me up – I could have made my own way you know."

"Don't be silly, it's no trouble, get it – and I'm sorry about the mess, it's all Tim's – not mine I promise!"

"You mean the plastic dinosaur isn't yours?"

"Alas no – I'm not entirely sure why it's in the car, I'm sure when I last checked it'd been sat in a flower pot for the last 3 years."

"The mysteries of dinosaurs, maybe it's a teleporting dinosaur?"

"You think?"

"I think it's a distinct possibility."

"But it's a T-rex, how would he reach the controls in his teleporter?"

"I didn't say anything about a teleporter! I'm working on the theory that's he's a naturally teleporting dinosaur."

"A dinosaur with an inbuilt ability to teleport you mean?"

"Mmm – seems the obvious answer to me, I mean how else did he get here?"

"How indeed." For the first time in his life, Patrick strangely akin to his plastic dinosaur – how had the dinosaur ended up in the car, and how had Patrick ended up taking a beautiful woman out to dinner? And then – realising that he was starting to get ridiculous, Patrick gave a sharp cough, and with one foot on the accelerator he pulled out of the estate towards the restaurant.

* * *

"Americano please, thanks."

"Same for me, thank you. So – what do you think?"

"I've never had Turkish food before and I'm impressed, well done on your choice Patrick."

"Thank you – if I told you that sat right to your left is the most ridiculously dressed woman in the world, what would you do?"

"I'd look – and laugh – obviously, why?"

"Because on your left is the most ridiculously dressed woman in the world."

"Should I look?"

"Oh yes, it's more than worth it!"

"… Christ alive! What is that?"

"It's almost like she's rolled in glitter, and who knew that you could even get neon thigh high boots?"

"You mean you haven't got a pair at home Dr Turner!"

"Well of course I have, but they're not that colour."

"Of course, of course. Oh – here's the coffee, thank you."

"Thanks – and could we have the bill? Sorry – I'd more than happily spend all night in here with you – but I have a highly suspicious babysitter in my employ until 10pm."

"You never said why she was so suspicious."

"Oh nothing really – just a normal 15 year old, but all the same I do wonder if the house'll still be standing when I get back. Oh – by the way – I meant to say, Tim, he's started getting these dyslexia tutoring things."

"Oh? How's he doing?"

"Well I think – but it's not really my area of expertise you know, I'm not sure how long it's meant to take this sort of thing."

"I can't say I know much more than you – but I'm sure that things'll get better and he'll start to find his feet again. All you can do is support him I suppose."

"Mmm – yes, which is easier said than done I'm afraid, he's a difficult boy – I mean I love him to death but he can be difficult. He has acute teenage-boy-itus I'm afraid."

"He's not a teenager yet though is he?"

"No – that's what worries me Shelagh, I may have another 8 years of this to get through!"

"Ha – sooner started, sooner ended. Shall we go, that waiter's starting to stare at us quite intently. I'll just pop to the ladies a moment."

"Of course, maybe if I put on my coat he'll stop staring at us." With a smile Shelagh left Patrick alone struggling to find his sleeve with their impatient waiter watching their every move. Stepping across to the room towards the toilet, Shelagh turned back to the table and watched Patrick with a smile as he carried on trying to force his arm through a sleeve that wouldn't yield. In the small room, fitted with its small MDF cubicles that didn't match the almost stylish not quite marble effect sinks, Shelagh stared into the mirror for a moment, watching her reflection intently; scanning the wave in her hair, her eyes and her lips, imagining for a second his and then with a blink she swallowed hard and washing her hands in the sink she turned back towards the door.

"Ahh – there you are, here's your coat … shall we?"

"Thank you, yes let's go – thank you, good night." She said in passing to the now quite relieved looking waiter, who replied in kind and with a small smile the couple stepped out onto the dark street towards the doctor's parked car, opening the passenger door for her Patrick smiled,

"Thank you for a lovely evening, it's been … lovely."

"It's has been … lovely as you said."

"I'm no orator I'm afraid – no, but you'll do."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Do – it was meant as one … well next time you'll have to let me cook."

"Next time?"

"Yes, I mean if you'd like to."

"Mmmm …"

"Sorry – was I being a bit forward I just thought …"

"Yes – no I mean …" pulling up in front of Shelagh's tower block Patrick paused.

"You don't have to you know."

"No it's not that it's just … it's just complicated."

"Is it, I hadn't thought so, I thought it was all quite simple."

"Yes, it is and it's not and then again … you see when I met Clair everything was so simple, I was young, she was young and she just took over my heart, completely and totally and I just knew."

"Knew?"

"Knew that she was all I'd ever want or need, and then … and then she died and I met you and … and it's different and not what I know."

"You know that different isn't always a bad thing don't you?"

"How do you know that you like something? Like … imagine you ate an apple and you liked it, and then for the rest of your life you at nothing but apples and then one day someone gave you a … a banana, and it doesn't taste like an apple so you can't tell if you like it or not, because the only thing in your life that you ever liked is apples because all you've ever eaten is apples."

"You know you like bananas if you like the taste of bananas, isn't that obvious?"

"You're so young …"

"I may be young – but at least I'm not afraid of my own feelings. Goodnight."

"No – Shelagh wait …" But Shelagh McDonald had already left the car.


	7. Chapter 7

**_So - here we are, brand new shiny chapter, a chapter that I really enjoyed writing and I hope that translates when you read it. I'm so thrilled about all reviews I've had from you, especially all the ones about how my very delayed chapter 6 was worth the wait. It means so much - and I write for you guys to read so if you're all enjoying it, then that's all that matters._**

**_I hope you like this chapter, I do but then I biased! It's got a bit of angst and troubles for Turnadette, but persevere - things can only get better in the words of D:Ream!_**

**_Enjoy _**

* * *

"Morning Mel, I hear you've got a Jane Doe for me. Mugged on the Powell Estate last night?"

"Oh morning Peter, yeah – she's been pretty badly beaten up, some real bastard laid into her. Poor girl, someone else in the building rang it in, recognised her but didn't know her name or where she lived."

"Any driving license or credit cards on her when she was found?"

"What do you think; she was cleaned out, no mobile, no purse, no-nothing. However, there was a work ID in her handbag."

"Oh good – might help."

"Ha, yeah – I think this one might, she works here, in the maternity department!"

"A midwife? What's her name?"

"Don't worry, it's not your missus, ummm it's a Shee-largh, is it, McDonald – know her?"

"Shealgh McDonald? Oh Christ, yeah I know her – she's a lovely girl, right, I'll go on up and tell the girls – give me a bleep when she's fit to give a statement."

"You'll be waiting a while, she's stark out, but she's being transferred up to B2 in a bit – so I'll tell them to grab you when she's fit."

"Thanks Mel, God – I'm not looking forward to this one."

* * *

2 days later

* * *

Shelagh McDonald was laying in the sun, on a soft grassy hill that cushioned her as the strong hot sun warmed her skin and heated her hair, Boris Yeltsin was smoking a cigarette and dancing with himself, the music was faint but she was sure it was Oasis, Boris walked towards her before sitting beside her and taking her hands in his own. She could smell the tang of tobacco on him, but as he opened his mouth to speak instead of his own deep Russian tones a familiar voice came out instead.

"I'm sorry … so sorry, I shouldn't have been uncertain. Thinking I'd lost you was just as … as heart breaking as losing Clair. I've made a mistake … I'm sorry." Her head felt heavy and her brain ached as she tried to reply to Boris Yeltsin's tender words, "I love you – and I should have told you sooner." she tried so very hard to reply, she tried to tell him that she loved him too, but her head felt as though she had filled her skull with lead and her brain was a water balloon full of custard that stuck and moved in a gelatinous mass. Boris leant down and gently kissed her on the forehead, again she tried to turn to him and speak but still she found that she couldn't. As Boris Yeltsin retreated away from her, across the soft grass that she lay on, she blinked feeling the sun and the grass disappeared and was replaced by cold strip lighting and a white room.

_"My soul slides away, but don't look back in anger. Don't look back in anger, I heard you say, at least not today._ That was Oasis with Don't look back in anger, released in 1996. Which was a very long time ago – I mean obviously I was but a boy back then, as you all know I'm only 25! This is Ken Bruce on the Ken Bruce show on BBC radio 2 …" Turning her head Shelagh caught sight of the radio in the corner of the room, blinking slowly and turning back to the foot of bed as slowly as she could to not dislodge the custardy-balloon that had replaced her brain, her eyes struggled to focus as they fell on the small figure at the foot of the bed.

"Cynthia?"

"Hello Shelagh, I wasn't sure if you were going to wake up yet."

"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, you were mugged three nights back."

"I was in a field …"

"A field?"

"With Boris Yeltsin … he was dancing …"

"Sounds like him! Do you want some water?"

"Mmmm … what happened … when I was attacked …"

"Here you are, take it slowly. No-one really knows what happened to you, apparently it was on the ground floor of the building – someone just beat the hell of you, stole your purse and your phone, it was only because of your work ID that they knew who you were and Peter Noakes came and told us. We've been worried sick! Do you remember anything?"

"Mmm … I remember … I … I got out of the car … and we'd argued …"

"Who'd car, who did you argue with Shelagh?"

"Patrick … Patrick Turner … he wouldn't tell me that he liked me … and I stormed off … I think … and then … I don't know … I don't remember … I don't – don't know … you need to feed Bernadette, promise you'll feed Bernadette."

"I promise, I promise … but I don't understand, what's this about you and Patrick Turner? I mean …" But Shelagh had already fallen back asleep, her breaths deepened and evened out and somewhat confused Cynthia stood up and slowly walked upstairs to the Maternity department, her head spinning, was this just the painkillers and concussion – like the dancing Boris Yeltsin, was she actually having a relationship with Dr Turner? Reaching the maternity ward, Cynthia quickly slipped in through the main doors and took a minute to survey the ward. Trixie was writing up a patient's name on a wipe clean board outside a birthing room, while Jenny was bent down fishing through a set of storage drawers.

"Jenny, Trixie – come here a second."

"Cynthia? What's up?" Asked Jenny, picking up her collection of equipmen, and pushing them into the pocket of her tunic she wondered over to Cynthia.

"You call Baby girl – what can I do for you?"

"I just saw Shelagh, she's fine before you ask, still out of it and no-idea what happened to her. But then … she started to say these things and I don't know if she was just concussed and spouting nonsense or …"

"Come on Cynthia, what is it?"

"It's …" Casting a quick look around again, she dropped her voice slightly, "She was saying what she remembered from that night, she said she remembered being dropped off in a car after she'd had an argument and that was it …"

"Who'd she have an argument with baby girl?" asked Trixie leaning in closer to the pair.

"That's just it, she said it was Dr Turner, she called him Patrick, and said that they'd had an argument because he wouldn't tell her how he felt about her … I mean – what do you think?"

"That can't be true, she must have just been dreaming and confused, who knew Shelagh was having such kinky dreams! … I mean Dr Turner's great but he's not exactly the type to be having an illicit affair with a midwife is he."

"Mmhm – but, let me say this to you, two month back Shelagh asked me what I would do if I were in love with a man who was still in love with an ex … so – I gotta lady in 5 who needs me, but I'll leave that info with you two girls and let you make up your own mind!" With a raised eyebrow, Trixie turned on her heel and stepped back into room 5 where her lady in labour awaited. Exchanging a glance with each other, Jenny and Cynthia both leant back to peer into the staff room where Dr Turner was absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea despite the fact that it had cooled so much that the mug was no-longer steaming. He carried on stirring regardless and watching nothing out of the window, exchanging a glance between them the pair of midwives stood up and walked over to the nurses station.

"So – what do you think, I mean there's definitely something on his mind, he's not usually that distant and distracted."

"You know he's been out for about 10 cigarette breaks this morning, he barely makes time for one normally … you don't think … do you?"

"Oh I don't know Jenny, I mean it doesn't seem likely, she's so quiet, she just spends time at home singing, baking and talking to Bernadette."

"Well he's hardly a social chameleon is he, maybe they're perfect for one another!"

* * *

Shelagh closed the front door and gave a sigh of relief, once she had come round they had let her go fairly soon, aside from a few bruises and a total of 32 stitches around her body from, what the police thought was a cricket bat. The painkillers meant that she was, at least for now not in agony, and so she stepped into the kitchen and found a note from Cynthia.

_Hey – _

_I've bought you eggs, cheese, ham, bread and milk, so you're good for omelettes and tea, I've been feeding Bernadette and gave her lots of strokes and fuss so she's much more chilled now after you went AWOL! _

_Speak soon – we're all worried about you_

_Cynthia xxxx_

She smiled and refolded the note, putting it back on the table she clicked on the kettle and wondered into the living room, it had been six nights since she had last walked into her building but it felt like six months, Bernadette had heard someone walk into the flat and came running out of the bedroom to see who it was, clearly delighted by who she found she began to purr wildly and wind her way around Shelagh's ankles.

"Hello lovely girl, how have you been? Sorry about that – I didn't mean to spend so long away." Stiffly she bent down and picked up the cat who decided that forcing her head into Shelagh's chin violently was the best course of action. Slowly on her stiff legs, she returned to the kitchen and having torn up some of Cynthia's ham onto a plate, and decanted a bowl of milk she made her way into the living room again, leaving Bernadette to enjoy her treat next to her on the floor, she sorted through her post – finding a selection of bills, a letter from the bank, a post card from a uncle on holiday in Tunisia that was sweet but fairly standard in terms of content – he was sun burnt, his wife was sun burnt, they had drunk too much and were enjoying the hotel, and finally a letter, addressed only to her, but with no address, stamp or postmark. She opened it cautiously as Bernadette, having finished the ham and milk jumped onto the sofa, and curled up on Shelagh's lap.

_17th September_

_Shealgh,_

_I'm sorry, I have no idea what I should be saying right now. Writing this is like speaking German, I have no-idea how to articulate myself, I know what I feel and what I think but how do I say it, how are you meant to say anything when you don't know what to say._

_I'm sorry, firstly for what happened that night, I was stupid, you walked away and then this happened and I'm sorry, so so sorry. But I'm also sorry – because I wasn't honest with you, I was never honest about how much I was still struggling to get over losing Clair, I wasn't honest about how I felt about you. And I'm afraid to say that it took me almost losing you to make me realise that you might not be Clair, but you are Shelagh, you are different and wonderful and fabulous and I love you, and I'm sorry I didn't have the courage or brain to tell you sooner._

_Patrick. _

The mewling of Bernadette brought Shelagh out of her reverie; she smiled down at the letter and picked up the landline phone, pausing momentarily before ploughing on she dialled the number and waited for the ringing to end.

"Hello?"

"Oh – hello, is that Tim? It's Shelagh."

"Hi Shelagh! How are you?"

"I'll live, nothing too bad – is your Dad about?"

"Umm well he's in the kitchen doing work, so he's a bit busy … _Who is Tim?... Shealgh Dad I said you were working … WAIT! I'm coming now – don't hang up…_ Sorry Shelagh, he's coming now._" _

"Thanks Tim."

"Shealgh?"

"Patrick, I just got home."

"I wrote to you."

"I know – I read it."

"I don't know if I said too much or not enough."

"I think you said just what I needed to hear."

"I'm glad to hear that … I came to visit you too, when you were out cold."

"I remember – I thought you were Boris Yeltsin."


	8. Chapter 8

**_I'm really spoiling you lot right now with these really efficient updates at the moment aren't I! I'm surprising myself to be honest._**

**_Thank you again, for the really really lovely and spectacular reviews, I'm chuffed that you're all enjoying my story so much, and that the muddled musings in my head are making you all so happy!_**

**_For those of you who have been waiting for a bit of Turnadette lovin' - well you're in luck, things are starting to get serious and romantic, there will be cake, there will be kissing and there will be more to come!_**

**_Enjoy - please review and this chapter's song is "I gotta feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas_**

* * *

_I know that we'll have a ball, if we get down and go out and just lose it all, I feel stressed out, I wanna let it go. Let's go way out spaced out and losing all control__. Fill up my cup, mazel tov. Look at her dancing, just take it off. Let's paint the town, we'll shut it down, let's burn the roof, and then we'll do it again!_

"Let's do it, let's do it, let's do it, let's do it! And do it and do it, let's live it ! And do it and do it and do it, do it, do it! Let's do it, let's do it, let's do it … come on Bernadette, why aren't you singing – Tonight's going to be a good night! I'm going to see Patrick, and this is going to be the start of something brilliant and wonderful!" The cat didn't look convinced but instead jumped up the bed and settled down onto her favourite pillow. Pulling off her towel she wandered around her bedroom alternating between combing her damp hair out and flicking through her underwear drawer to find a matching set, a rare occurrence in her wardrobe, but potentially possible. She wasn't nervous exactly, but all the same, this was the first time she had seen Patrick since the night of the mugging. It'd been a week since the phone call where she'd decided that the no-matter what happened she had to be with him, and now was the crucial night, when the stars aligned and hopefully things may get on track with Patrick.

She was uncorking a bottle of wine when the buzzer rang, the advantage of living on the 14th floor of a tower block was that the time between the bell ringing and your guests arriving at your own front door was long enough for a last minute tidy, or for more nervous residents to try and effect a nonchalant air. Shelagh in turn took a deep breath and, having poured herself a glass of wine, walked over to her laptop, plugged into her stereo and pressed play, her music tastes were somewhat varied so what would play through-out the night was anyone's guess. When the knock at the front door came, she took a deep breath and pulled her jumper down a little lower, exhaling slowly she opened the door.

"Hi Patrick, Tim how are you?"

"Fine thanks – have you got a cat?"

"Umm – yeah, her name's Bernadette. Wait a sec and I'll give you some treats for her – she'll love you for ever!" Walking back into the kitchen, she fished about in a cupboard for a second before finding the box of cat treats, she pulled a few from the packet and handed them over to the boy with a smile. "She's probably asleep on my bed; it's just through there on the left. So – Patrick … it's good to see you. Wine?"

"Thanks yeah, it's good to see you too. How have you been?"

"Oh fine, I'm off the painkillers now, my stiches are all out – I'm as good as new basically, scars permitting." Taking a step closer to her, Patrick ran a finger along her temple and cheek, following her largest scar gently,

"You still look beautiful to me, you always will." he didn't take his hand from the edge of her cheek, pausing he leant in and kissed Shelagh on the cheek where his fingers had been a moment before. Breaking away after a moment he smiled, "I've missed you."

"I missed you too, a lot." leaning against Patrick hugged him hard, before looking up and reaching up she kissed him on the lips, he had kissed her once before in a moment of confusion and pain when he thought he had lost Tim that night, but this time was different, instead of shock and panic – there was passion and love as he reciprocated the kiss. His hand slipping to her waist, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the bulk of her jumper.

"I should start cooking." She said after a moment stepping back from his embrace, "Or we'll never eat!"

"And where Tim's concerned not having food's a dangerous situation to be in! What are we having?"

"Sausages alright?"

"Yes thanks, anything with them?"

"Peppers and pasta – winning combination!"

"Anything I can do?"

"Umm … do you want to find the pasta in the cupboard and boil some up."

"Yeah – of course, oh – before I forget two things, first off – I've got a present for you! Here – it's nothing too exciting."

"Oh, Patrick you shouldn't have." Taking the package off him, around the length of a paperback but 2/3 as wide, Shelagh carefully pulled off the paper, to reveal a replacement for the purse that the muggers had stolen; it was red with a bright yellow passion flower design printed across it and a silver buckle that closed it up. "Oh Patrick it's lovely, and thoughtful, thank you!"

"Well Tim helped pick it with me, he was worried that I'd pick something hideous and far too practical!"

"Well then, you both have good taste, thank you again. You said there were two things?"

"Ahh yes, well this one's a little more tricky, do you by any chance remember when you just came round from the accident and Cynthia was there?"

"Vaguely, I think I started talking about Boris Yeltsin -"

"I did wonder why you were dreaming about him."

" – and asked her to feed Bernadette, why do you ask?"

"Umm – well it would appear that you were talking about me as well … or us rather."

"Us?"

"Yes, about that night … and why we had argued … and now it would appear that the maternity ward and a considerable portion of the neo-nates unit and maternity department know that there's something going on between us."

"Oh God … this is a bit awkward."

"Mmm – although crushingly the main objection seems to be that I'm far too dull to being having an illicit relationship. What do you want to do?"

"About you being dull or about us?"

"Oh either or!"

"Well, you're not dull – so that's that one sorted, and as for the other … what do you think? I mean as far as I'm concerned this isn't a fling … or with any luck it isn't, people'll have to know at some point, if we're in this for the long run."

"I am – actually, before I make any commitment, can I just check about the Boris Yeltsin thing? I mean have you got a bit of a think for communist Russians? Should I grow a Karl Marxesq beard?"

"Ha – no, I have no idea why I would be dreaming of the poor Mr Yeltsin, I'm going to assume that I was on some powerful drugs at the time!"

* * *

"Thank you for a lovely evening, and some really lovely food! That cake was … spectacular!"

"Well, Tim – how about you two take some of the extra home, there's plenty left and it'll only get wasted on the girls on the ward."

"Can we Dad?"

"Yeah – if Shelagh's sure she doesn't mind?"

"No – you go for it Tim. There's come clingfilm in the drawer next to the sink." Watching Tim dash off into the kitchen, she turned back to Patrick with a smile, she stepped closer until she could smell his aftershave, looking up she bit her lip thoughtfully. "So – this is goodnight then!"

"Goodnight, nurse McDonald … I'll be seeing you."

"I'll be seeing you, soon I hope."

"Well Tomorrow actually, you're back in aren't you?"

"Yes, ready to be fussed over by everyone!" She took a step closer again, her chest just touching his, she reached out slowly and took his hand in her own, lacing her fingers through his she leant upwards and kissed him, he reached around her waist and pulled her in towards him tighter. Shifting her jumper ½ an inch with his finger he reached for a small patch of exposed skin on her spine, feeling her cold smooth skin he pulled her closer as she reached up and held the back of his head with her free hand, his lips tasted of the sweet chocolate and the sharp tang of wine that told of their evening. It was the bump of the kitchen drawer in the background which brought them round and they both jumped, stepping apart they moved away from one another just as Tim returned from the kitchen holding a clingfilmed package of chocolate cake in his hand.

"Thanks Shelagh, for tonght and for the cake and for letting me play with Bernadette, she's really nice! And so was the cake!"

"You're very welcome Tim, any time – and thank you for the purse, it'll be really useful – and you have excellent taste."

"Right – we'd best be off, come on Tim, you've got school in the morning. Good night Shealgh … I'll see you in work!"

"See you." Closing the door behind her, Shelagh slowly walked back to the kitchen diner with a massive smile on her face, she surveyed the mess on the table of plates, glasses and the pots and pans in the sink, with a sigh she thought about doing the washing up, before deciding that tonight had been too good a night to ruin now so collecting up Bernadette in her arms she walked through to her bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. "This - Miss B, has been a very good night, don't you think!"

* * *

Settled down in the car, Patrick turned to his son and watched him fasten his seatbelt in the rear view mirror. Satisfied that he was safely secured her gave a small cough and turned the ignition,

"So … that was nice wasn't it Tim …" he said, his foot hovering over the accelerator, he wanted the conversation started before he started to drive. "Wasn't it?"

"Yeah it was great, I mean Shelagh's great. She's really nice."

"She is isn't she … mmm … yeah …"

"Dad … are you alright?"

"Yeah – why?"

"Well, you're not exactly doing much driving are you."

"Oh right … yeah, sorry …" Carefully he started to reverse out of his parking space and back onto the road, doing a three point turn her stayed watching Tim occasionally looking back onto the road to see where he was going. "I only ask because I wanted to talk to you about something … umm … I mean how would you feel if I – I mean we – we were to see a bit more of Shelagh from time to time?"

"How do you mean Dad?"

"I mean if I were see Shelagh outside of work from time to time – well I mean quite often really, and so you saw her a bit more often too, how would you feel about that?"

"Dad – can you just spit it out, you're talking forever!"

"Don't be cheeky!"

"Dad – do you mean that you and Shelagh are going out?"

"Oh right OK, ummm – yeah, yeah we are. We're going to be a bit more umm public soon, but I wanted to check with you first."

"Do you like kiss and stuff?"

"Umm yeah a bit …"

"Urgh – that's gross Dad!"

"Sorry. You did ask."

"I know – but I never thought you say yes, you're well old!"

"Oh thanks Tim, I mean I know I'm not quite at the peak of my youth but I'm not quite ready for my pipe and slippers just yet!"

"I don't know how you got her Dad, she's really young and pretty."

"I had noticed."

"And you're old and wear jumpers. But you're luck Dad, lucky that she doesn't mind, because she's really nice."

"So – you're OK with it then?"

"Yeah – I'm OK with it."


	9. Chapter 9

**_First off I'm sorry this has taken a while to write, a combination of 12 hour shifts at work and a broken freezer that needs checking on every half an hour means I've been a little distracted of late!_**

**_This chapter's been hard work but quite good fun to write so I hope you enjoy it too! This chapter's first two sections contain some stuff that some-of you may not wish to read, nothing x-rated, don't panic. But none the less – if you don't want to read it, then skip through to the 3rd section if you want._**

**_There's three pieces of dialogue that I have shamelessly thieved from other programs (they in no-way belong to me and were written by far more intelligent people and better writers than me!) A touch of Frost (2010), Blackpool (2004) and No Angels (2004) – if you know which parts they are then you have wonderful tastes in tele and congratulations!_**

**_Thank you for all your lovely reviews, I love the reactions I've had to this story, it means the world to me, and thank you so so much! Please do continue – you're all fabulous!_**

**_Enjoy x_**

* * *

"Look Shelagh – this isn't up for discussion, end of. OK?"

"No not really Patrick, you're wrong and you can't accept it."

"Sorry, but _you're _wrong Shelagh and you need to be honest with yourself!"

"Patrick –you're being stupid about this!"

"Shelagh. Human League's _don't you want me baby_ is a terrible terrible song!"

"No it bloody isn't – it's a brilliant song, why would you call it terrible, it's no worse than … I don't know The Communard's _don't leave me this way_!"

"Now _that_ is a fine song! And I will not have it's good name besmirched by being associated with that kind of crap. Did you want any more rice?"

"Yes thanks – just a little bit. It's not crap Patrick, it's a damn good song, and if you hadn't shipped your son off for a camping weekend he'd be sat here agreeing with me."

"Don't be daft! He doesn't know one end of the dark side of the moon from the other, unless you're talking … Rizzle Kicks he doesn't want to know!"

"Ha – Rizzle Kicks isn't a name you say often is it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I doesn't sit quite right in your mouth!"

"Perhaps I'm too old?"

"Mmm …"

"That was your cue to tell me I'm not old!"

"I'm not sure I can defend a man with a bad taste in music – but I love you regardless."

"You're sure about that are you? You're not going to wake up one morning and wonder what you're doing with this old bloke then?"

"No Patrick – that's never going to happen. And besides – in a dim light you could pass for … oooo … 55?"

"Cheeky witch! I'll remind you of that statement next time you ask me if you look nice in an outfit! Now – unfortunately my baking skills aren't quite a patch on yours so there's no cake, but there's the rest of this bottle of wine you can help me polish off if you want?"

"I shouldn't, I've got to cycle home yet."

"You don't have to …"

"Well if I can't cycle after another two glasses, then you certainly can't drive me home Patrick!"

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to take you home …"

"Oh – did you?"

"Sorry was that a bit crass?"

"No it was, it's ummm it's an idea. A good one."

"I'm not going to force you Shelagh, God I would never – I mean it just seems so unlikely that someone like you would fall for someone like … anyway."

"When you first met me, what did you think?"

"What?"

"When you first met me, what did you think?"

"I thought you were a beautiful, and funny and intelligent and you laughed at my jokes and one time, your smile stayed and I thought that maybe there was something about me that you found –attract- oh what's the point Shelagh?"

"Because I want you to see that that's what matters – all that, not anything else – nothing else, what you thought then was true and still is."

"Really – you're sure about that?"

"Patrick – I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, Jesus – if I wasn't interested I wouldn't still be coming to your house night after night, I wouldn't have you round to mine night after night … would I?"

"No – I suppose not … I – I should say or uh warn you that umm … since Clair died I've not umm … what I mean is that I've lived like a monk, a priest … a catholic priest … do you see what I mean?"

"Yeah – I recon I can crack that particular enigma …"

* * *

Shelagh sat up slightly in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover herself turning slightly on the pillow she faced Patrick, she watched the rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath, he turned his head slightly, not meeting her eyes.

"Are you OK?" She asked, extending a hand and resting it on his chest. He turned more, still not quite meeting her eyes but facing her, "Patrick? Are you OK?" moving her hand up, resting her fingertips on his jaw she angled his face towards her and smiled.

"Sorry – I'm fine … it's been a while, I'd almost forgotten … are you alright?"

"I'm good yeah, I'm really good … maybe I should get going, I've got work tomorrow."

"Only if you want to – I wouldn't send you out of my house at 1 in the morning."

"I don't have to leave, I just thought that maybe …"

"I can take you to work in the morning if you like."

"Yeah that'd be great, you'll set tongues wagging mind."

"They'll have to know sooner or later, maybe we should say something tomorrow – who's on duty?"

"Trixie, Jenny, Julie and me – and if we tell them then I'm sure Cynthia'll know within about 5 minutes on the bush telegraph."

"Only if you want to Shelagh." Leaning up on her elbow, pulling the sheet up to keep herself covered she looked into his eyes and placed her hand back onto his chest,

"Stop saying that Patrick – it's not always about what I want! There's two of us in this relationship – and if it's always you trying to make me happy then it'll never work. What do _you_ want? You've got more at stake than me, you're more senior than me, and you've got a son."

"Tim knows! And it's irrelevant if I'm a doctor."

"Nurses are expected to behave sluttishly with doctors – doctor's aren't. Why don't I tell the girls – without you? At least that way I can stem the tide of dirty jokes and wink-wink-nudge-nudge behaviour."

"OK – you do your bit, I'll do mine. Come on – we'll have to be up in a few hours, come here." Curling up into Patrick's side, her hand around him she closed her eyes and moved her head closer to his.

"You once told me that you hadn't changed the pillow case on Clair's pillow since she died …"

"Don't worry – that's a fresh one. I may have a questionable taste in music – but that is one thing that I do care about."

"Sorry – I wasn't trying to pry."

"You weren't, it's a fair question." She felt as though her eyes had barely closed before she was forced to open them again by a loud banging noise; the front door, looking around her she couldn't see Patrick but she could hear the shower running. Pulling her jumper off of the floor she jogged quickly down stairs to answer the door in Patrick's absence, smoothing her hair off her face she caught sight of the distorted shape in the glass of the front door, whoever was hammering was very short, it could be the postman she supposed, although she wondered if it the Royal Mail had dwarf postmen.

"Shelagh?" Came the confused voice from the front garden as she opened the door,

"Tim! Tim … I thought you were away with the Scouts for the weekend?" Tim stood, in his scout uniform holding a rucksack, and stood next to a tall black man who was looking equally confused.

"I was – we came home today, I told Dad that Simon's dad was dropping me off this morning … what are you doing here so early – and why aren't you wearing any trousers?" Tim's tall companion, gave a wry smile and looked Shelagh up and down with a glint in his eye,

"I … umm … I … do you know what Tim, I'm not sure that right on the doorstep is quite the place to discuss this! Do you want to just pop in and I'll grab your Dad. Thanks for driving him home safe Simon's dad – bye now bye!" she closed the door firmly and smiled equally firmly at Tim. "So, how was camping?"

* * *

Shealgh ate her sandwich slowly, eyeing up the club resting on the arm of her chair, she almost wished that adults were allowed to eat their chocolate before their mains. Since she hadn't been at home, she'd been forced to run over to the hospital branch of WHS and buy an over-priced, over-chilled ploughman's sandwich. She was just unscrewing the lid off a bottle of Vimto when the staff room door opened and Jenny collapsed down onto a free chair.

"My God – I haven't seen one like that in a long long time! I mean we couldn't get the forceps in there, the baby wouldn't come, it was like trying to force a ferret into a condom!"

"Oh, _that_ is some lovely imagery!"

"Well it was! Funny looking baby too – I mean they're all funny looking but that one …"

"Like a ferret in a condom?"

"What's like a ferret in a condom?" Asked Julie, walking into the staff room waving a email in her hand,

"Stephanie Cole's baby in three – mind you I've seen the father so it really could have been much worse!" replied Jenny, cracking open her tupper-wear lunch box. "What's the email?"

"Oh this? ELC have emailed us to confirm their emergency funding for staff – so I thought that once she'd qualified perhaps Camilla Brown might fancy a job? What do you all think?"

"Can we afford the rate we'll be replacing crockery?"

"Shelagh – uncharacteristically sharp of you? I always thought that Scottish Presbyterian upbringing of yours means you were that you were unendingly generous! What's got into you?" Asked Julie with a laugh, bending to fish around in the overstuffed fridge,

"Or who …?" asked Jenny with an arched eyebrow, setting down her wrap giving Shelagh a small wry smile,

"Who? What's this Shelagh?" Julie turned sharply back from the kitchen counter to face her friend, she backed toward a free chair and sat down with a thud. "Have you got a boy for yourself?"

"Umm of a kind, I wouldn't say I've got a boy as much as a man."

"Ooo- er, he must be good!"

"No – it's just that he's definitely not a boy! We wanted to tell you anyway, so this is actually quite … fortuitous. It's … Patrick."

"Patrick, Patrick who? Patrick the anaesthetist? Patrick in patient records? Patrick Kielty?" Asked Julie, looking up from her packet of crisps.

"No – no, none of those Patricks, it's Patrick Turner … the doctor Patrick Turner."

"I knew it!" Cried Jenny looking victorious and beaming at the pair of midwives sat before her, while Julie looked confusedly between them both.

"You knew? Hang on – Shelagh? You and Patrick Turner? I mean … I mean … how long?"

"I don't know really – I mean it depends how you look at it … a month, two if … we just wanted you all to know!" Julie carried on staring at Shelagh, who couldn't quite decide if the shock on her face was good or not, she swallowed hard and tried to brave it out with a smile.

"I'm happy for you, it's just unexpected that's all … sorry, well I wish you both all the best! Umm – I'm going to go and finish my lunch in my office, need to make some phone calls…" Pushing her half eaten crisps back into her Tesco carrier bag she gave Shelagh a small smile and left the staff room, disheartened Shelagh turned back to Jenny who was still beaming away.

"So – you all knew?"

"We had our suspicions yeah – but I'm happy for you, it's great news. It's time you settled down."

"Oh says Elizabeth Taylor over there! I suppose I can news to get about a bit now that you know?"

"Oh yes! In return for all the details and gossip next time you come out for a drink?"

"In return for _some_ of the details and gossip yes … I have to go and see Julie a second." Stepping over to the door to Julie's office, she tapped on the glass briskly and after a moments wait she entered. Her desk was as messy as ever, and she was balancing her packet of crisps on top of her computer monitor. "Hi Julie – sorry to disturb you but I just wanted to make sure everything's OK?"

" Yes it is – sorry Shelagh. It's just that I … I've known Patrick a long time, I mean since I started at the unit 15 years ago, I knew Clair too. I saw him grieving and I suppose that I never imagined that he'd ever fall for someone else you know, he was so crushed when he lost Clair and just threw himself into work. And there was a while when I was really worried about him, he was considering sending Tim off to live with his aunty in Kent because he wasn't coping, I wasn't sure if he'd pull through. It's good for him though – to have found you, and I'm happy for you too Shelagh, you spend far too much time thinking about work, it's good for you to have some distraction."

"I'm glad you're happy for us, it means a lot."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Evening all, another chapter to add to the collection!**_

_**I hope you all enjoy this one - we're starting to get a bit more couply, by crossing the dark and scary bridge that is meeting your other half's mates! It's never gone as well for me as it will in this one, but hey - what else is fiction for if not for being improbable!**_

_**Hope you enjoy - and this chapter's song is "Knock Knock, who's there?" by Mary Hopkins which came 2nd in the 1970 Eurovision song contest, and "Wake up Boo" by the Boo Radleys - a finer song there never was!**_

* * *

_Sit and dream of how things might have been, __and as I close my eyes I get the strangest feeling. Knock Knock, who's there? Could this be love that's calling? The door is always open wide. Knock knock - who's there? Now as the night is falling, take off your coat and come inside._

_"And that was Mary Hopkins with Knock Knock, who's there? I think we sent that in for Eurovision didn't we – anyway the time is five twenty nine, you're listening to Vanessa Feltz on BBC radio two, time for the news … This is the news at BBC five thirty, insurgent troops have –"_Patrick leant over and after a few misses he managed to hit the top of the radio alarm clock with his hand and put Vanessa Feltz on snooze, rolling back over he watched Shelagh's back, her arm outstretched across her pillow and her shoulder blades separated and drew back together with each deep sleepy breath.

"Shelagh … Shelagh?" He whispered, sliding a hand around her waist and pulling her gently towards him,

"Mmm – what time is it?"

"Just gone half past, Vanessa's on full force …" sleepily Shelagh rolled over and gave him a small smile, "you do love your Vanessa Feltz … is it really half five?"

"Afraid so." Giving a small whimper she curled her head down and yawned. "Do you want the first shower before I get Tim up?"

"No it's alright. I'll get him up – you use the bathroom, I could do with a cup of tea before I try and blow-dry my hair."

"Alright then, and uh – if you're putting the kettle on …"

"Tsssk, you don't ask much do you! Alright then – did you buy more Frosties for Tim?"

"Oh Bugger! No I forgot – he'll have to have jam on toast. You know the look he gives me when I give him toast you'd think I was putting him on POW rations."

"It's alright – in a few years you can send him down the mines, he can buy his own breakfast then!" She said laughing, reaching up she kissed him on the lips and reached around hugging in the warmth from his wrapped up body, "I suppose I should get up …"

"Mmm – I suppose we should." He replied, not moving.

_"-what I said!__ Right – time for some more music, it's a brilliant song, one that'll get you all out of bed!_"

_Summer's gone, day's spent with the grass and sun,__ I don't mind, to pretend I do seem really dumb. I rise as the morning comes, crawling through the blinds, I shouldn't be up at this time, but I can't sleep with you there by my side. Wake up it's a beautiful morning, feel the sun shining for your eyes. Wake up it's so beautiful, For what could be the very last time._

"Right – come on – Vanessa's spoken! It's time to get up."

* * *

Buttering up a slice of toast, Shelagh pulled a plate off the drying rack and handed over his breakfast to Tim,

"I'm just going to have a quick shower, and then we can get you to school alright? It's your last week before you head to secondary school your Dad was telling me last night."

"Yeah, it's going to be great. Dad says I can catch the bus then – so I won't need to wait for you two in the morning."

"Oh and that's the only good thing is it? Anyway – I'm not over that often, it's only when our shifts match up!"

"You're over a lot, and if you're not over then Dad's round at yours!"

"That's alright isn't it? I mean you don't mind do you?"

"Nah – Simon's dad's got a girlfriend, she's really pretty!"

"Is she indeed? Young too?"

"Mmm probably – I don't know, 25 maybe? But she gets Simon loads of presents because she wants him to like her more than his Mum …"

"Well, you're lucky that I don't want you to like me more than you like your Mum! Sounds like the showers free, I'll be 20 minutes and then we can leave, have your got your reading book for your dyslexia session thing later?"

"Yeah – I finished it last night, it was really boring!"

"Morning Tim." Called Patrick, walking through the kitchen door buttoning up his shirt as he did, "You two alright?"

"Oh fine, just discussing the relative merits of stepmothers!" replied Shealgh with a wry smile, passing by and handing over her half-drunk cup of tea.

* * *

*Hi bbs, me and the girls are going out for a few glasses after work – fancy it? xx*

*Hey L, I'm with Patrick tonight – sorry xx*

*Boring, bring him along – we want to meet the new man! Xx*

*You'll scare him off! Xx"

*We'll be good – promise! Come to the Peacock for 8:30 X*

"Phone Nurse McDonald!" Shelagh jumped almost a foot in the air and spun on her heels, shoving her phone into her tunic pocket.

"Oh God Patrick – I thought you were Sister Evangelina! You nearly gave me a heart attack … what are you after eh?"

"Just got a text of Lindsey, I told you about her remember?"

"The one with the arm?"

"No – that's Karen. Lindsey's the one with the eye. Anyway she's invited me out tonight for a drink with the girls tonight, Cynthia and Julie are coming down too."

"Oh OK."

"Well the girls want you to come down too, I mean the girls want to meet you and I think Julie and Cynthia want us to have an official outing as a couple … what do you think?"

"I think -"

"I mean you don't have to, I don't want you to feel obliged or anything!"

"Shelagh -"

"If it's not your scene then I understand!"

"Shelagh -"

"What?"

"Stop interrupting! I think it sounds like a good idea, how about I ring Simon's Dad and ask him to take Tim for the night?"

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure, but – put your phone away before the dark lord catches you!"

"She's not _that_ bad!"

"Oh she is! She makes Mussolini look a fair and level headed leader."

"She's a good midwife – you know rumour has it she was found the rubble when the dug the foundations for the unit!"

"Explains a lot, including her taste for Babycham – who's drunk Babycham since 1968 I ask you?"

"You should know – it was your 18th wasn't it?"

"Ooo – _you_, nurse McDonald, are a horrible horrible person! And room 6 is flashing, I think you're wanted!"

"Aghh – now she is a good 'un, 8th baby in as many years – she pops them out like she's shelling peas!"

* * *

Shelagh slid her hand through Patricks and gave it a squeeze, as they walked across the pub towards the crowded table, there were three young women sat at the table a bottle of wine half completed and an empty one stood next to it.

"Shelagh! Hey – how are you?!"

"Hi Lindsey, I'm good … umm – Lindsey, Karen, Hannah – this is Patrick. Patrick – Lindsey, Karen and Hannah."

"Well Shelagh – how long have you been keeping him hidden?!" Cried the broad Geordie tones of Karen, who pulled out a chair with force, and with equal force pulled Patrick down to sit on it. "Shelagh – we are running low on wine, and you two haven't got a drink! I think that's something that you should remedy – I'll look after Paddy here!"

"Umm well it's Patrick – and no, you won't. I like him too much to feed him to the wolves! He needs to give me a hand at the bar."

"No he doesn't!" Came the loud voice again,

"No actually – I really think I ought to!" with a panicked glance Patrick stood up and strode quickly towards the bar.

"You lot are like a pack of starving dogs!" Hissed Shelagh with a smile, before turning away from the table and following Patrick, she rested a hand on the small of his back as she slipped in beside him. "Yeah – sorry about her, possibly should have given you a heads up about that one …"

"You think? Gin and Tonic?"

"Please, Karen's harmless, if a little … keen shall we say! It's all just an act to be honest – she's very happily married and would rather drink bleach than cheat on her man. You'll like Hannah – she's a make-up artist on tele – does prosthetics for Doctor Who!"

"And Lindsey?"

"Oh Lindsey, Lindsey is a recovering heron addict!"

"You mean heroin …?"

"No – I mean heron, as in the bird – she's obsessed with birds, dropped out of university to track down this elusive heron, now she's an ornithologist, quite good apparently – she works for Kings College London. We all trained as midwives together, Karen went back to nursing and the other two jacked it all in."

"You have some very strange friends you know Shelagh."

"No I don't!"

"The Ornithologist, the makeup artist, and the two midwives all walk into a pub …"

"Point taken."

* * *

"OK – so let me get this right, pass the wine -"

"You've drank it all Lindsey!"

"I'll go and get another – same again everyone?"

"Thanks Cynthia – so Julie, let me get this right – you've been married for 30 years!? I mean – why?"

"Because I'm happy with Stephen!"

"Urgh – my longest relationship was … Shelagh how long was it?"

"I have no idea Lindsey – I remember your shortest … Michael Mahoney – three hours twenty minuites!"

"Oh God! Now Patrick won't have heard that one Lindsey – I think that's a story that needs re-telling!"

"No no no! You can't!"

"Oh well now Lindsey, I think I need to hear it!" Laughed Patrick, draining the last of his glass of bitter as Cynthia handed him another and seated herself back down, plonking another bottle of white down on the table and passing Julie and Shelagh their respective drinks. "I was just about to be told the story of Michael Mahoney Cynthia?"

"Oh God – Michael Mahoney – poor poor Michael, I've never met the man and even I feel sorry for him!" With a loud groan, throwing her hands over her face as the story of poor Michael Mahoney was relayed to Patrick, Lindsey shrunk back into her seat. Shelagh surveyed her group of friends, who were all enraptured by the story – however many times they had heard it, and she watched Patrick, who had by now integrated her friends tight-knit group, he had withstood Karen's initial horrendous flirting, Lindsey's drunken recounting of her bad track history with men, and Hannah's never ending supply of gossip of what was happening behind the scenes on some of Cardiff's biggest TV dramas, who was a secret alcoholic in Casualty, who was sleeping with who on Doctor Who, and which member of Sherlock wore lifts in their shoes. And she smiled, life was slowly coming together and it made her happy – in her own little world she barely noticed Hannah grabbing her by the hand and pulling her upwards,

"Toilet – come on."

"Yeah of course!" handing Patrick her bag she followed her friend towards the pub toilet, where the pair now accompanied by Cynthia squashed into a line in front of the sink.

"So!?"

"So what Hannah?"

"So – come on, you don't get to bring us a new man and not give us all the juicy details!"

"Uh – hang on, I still have to work with these two, I don't want too many juicy details."

"Don't worry Cynthia, neither of you are getting any juicy details."

"But you're happy though aren't you?"

"Yeah – we both are, really happy."

"Because – am I missing something or is he a bit … I don't know … he's wearing a jumper …"

"You mean he's older than me. And yeah he is but it's not that big an age gap - 15 years, you know and I mean I'm 30 and his son's 11 so it's not even like I'm too young to be Tim's stepmother …"

"Yeah but babes – do you not feel a bit like, and this isn't me trying to make trouble – you know I'll support you no matter what, a bit like he's at a different stage in his life, I mean you said he's got a lad. Right so he's done the nappies and night feed stuff and you're still young enough to want kids."

"Look – it's really early days yet – we're not worrying about that just yet."

"Yeah but Shelagh, if you like him as much as I think you do then you need to think about that kind of stuff before you're in too deep."

"I think Hannah's right you know Shelagh, I'm not saying it's not going to work or anything, but you know it wouldn't hurt to just work out if you're both … singing of the same hymn sheet you know." Added Cynthia,

"Look he seems lovely – I'm sure it'll all be great for you two, you seem happy! You said he's got a boy though, what about his ex – what's she like?"

"He's widowed …"

"Shit … sorry."

"No, I am, that was … really dickish. Do you think we'll be alright?"

"You and Patrick? Well he's put up with us lot for three hours now – so I reckon he's in for the long haul!"


	11. Chapter 11

_Oh no - I've done it again, I've completely neglected you all and been really lax with my writing - sorry!_

We've met the friends, it's time to meet the family - or Shelagh's at least it will be Patrick's next time! Thank you all for your fab reviews, they mean so much to me and love each and every one!  


_This chapter's song is Whisky in the jar by Thin Lizzy._

_Enjoy and please continue to review!_

* * *

_As I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountains__, I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was counting. I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier, I said: Stand or deliver or the devil he may take you!_Patrick grabbed his mobile off the kitchen table, without checking the screen he pressed the call button.

"Hello?"

"Hello – Patrick?"

"Kathy, how are you?"

"Oh not too bad, you and Tim?"

"We're fine, sorry to be rude – but I'm right in the middle of cooking Tim's tea so …"

"Of course, sorry I hadn't seen the time. Well I was just wondering what you and Tim we're doing for next weekend, I haven't seen either of you since Christmas, I thought it might be nice to see you for Sunday lunch?"

"Oooh, umm do you know I'm not sure if I'm on duty this Sunday … let me check my diary after tea and I'll get back to you in a while alright?"

"Yes of course, well bye for now."

"Bye … Bye!" Placing the phone back on the table, Patrick walked slowly back towards the cooker and bent down to check the fish fingers. He knew he wasn't on duty that Sunday, but he wasn't overly keen on seeing his sister in law at the moment, as much as he liked Kathy, she had been a pillar of strength when Clair had died – she had even offered to help him look after Tim when he had been struggling, and yet as Clair's sister what was he meant to say about Shelagh. On the one hand was he meant to keep it quiet until the two of them were in a proper committed _"Lets move in and get married and share toothpaste"_ relationship, but then – to get to that stage you had to go through the "_almost moved in, meet the family, I know where you keep your spare toilet roll"_ stage, and that was almost - he hoped - the stage that he and. She should be told of course she should but what was he meant to say?

* * *

"Hi Dad, you alright?"

"Oh I'm fine, how's my wee bairn?"

"I'm good thanks."

"You're not busy are you?"

"Umm – I'm on duty, but I'm on my break – what can I do for you?"

"Ah – can't an old man telephone his daughter for a chat?"

"Yes – but you don't, you hate idle chatter, you've told me enough times Dad!"

"Oh alright, I'm coming down this weekend to London and you know how much I hate hotels – I wondered if I could stay with you in the flat."

"There's only the sofa bed you know Dad, are sure you wouldn't prefer a hotel?"

"Och no, the sofa'll be fine for me."

"Why are you coming down anyway – not that it won't be lovely to see you!"

"Ha – charmer, no an old army pal of mine's funeral – down in the Big Smoke and I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and visit you too."

"Actually Dad, it might be quite good timing … there's someone I'd like you to meet … a man …"

"A man?"

"Yeah a man, a man called Patrick."

"A man called Patrick eh? And this man called Patrick – will he …"

"Will he what Dad?"

"Will he … be calling me Daddy anytime soon?" A throaty laugh came down the line,

"Oh right that's it, I'm hanging up now – bye Dad!"

"No no love – I'm just joking, will I like him?"

"you'll want to marry him yourself."

"He must be good then, well I look forward to meeting this man called Patrick then. I'll get my usual train on Friday night if that's alright?"

"Oh that's fine – I'll prepare Patrick. Bye now Dad."

"Bye love." hanging up her mobile Shelagh gave a smile at her father, since she had moved down to London she didn't see as much of him as she would have liked, so she was happy, happy that she could see him again after far too long, and even happier that he was going to meet Patrick without her having to drag him and Tim up to Aberdeen.

*Hi – just had a call from my Dad, he's coming down on Fri – wants to meet you. X*

*Funny you should say that – C's sister just asked me over for Sunday lunch x*

*She wants to meet me?! X*

*She doesn't know about you – didn't know how to say it X*

*She'll have to know at some point x*

*I'll tell her tonight – are you maybe free Sun?*

*On nights – so ish – but I can do lunch X*

*Sure? X*

*Sure – what a weekend! X*

*Ha – T will be happy! X*

* * *

_You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you. I picked you out, I shook you up and turned you around. Turned you into someone new. _

"Oh you have got to be joking – the first time I let you drive me anywhere and this bloody song comes on!"

"It's fate – see everyone apart from you likes this song."

"Remind me again why I've let you behind the wheel?"

"Trust me, this is so much easier, my Dad's a bit of a backseat driver and you'll want to throttle him in the first 2 minutes if you drive – I'm well trained in putting up with it."

"He can't be that bad?"

"Want a bet? Just you wait."

"What time's his train getting in?"

"Half nine, he always gets the night train so he can sleep – he hates trains."

"Why he doesn't he drive then?"

"He hates driving – he just thinks he's better at it to everyone else, right – hang on, if I just pull up here and ring him I'll find out where he is. Turn down the radio a second …"

"Blimey you don't want much do you – anything else I can get you?"

"No – I'm done with your services for now." With a smile Shealgh pulled her mobile out and pushed her glasses up to sit on her head, with a chuckle Patrick turned away to look out the steamed up window. "What are you laughing at Dr Turner?"

"You – and your old woman glasses!"

"Oh stop it – they are not old woman glasses – think Barbara Good in the Good life."

"I think they're lovely … and make you look like Ronnie Corbet."

"You are a terrible boyfriend … Hi Dad! Hey yeah we're just pulled up outside the station … OK … how long do you think … alright then so I can't stay here or I'll have a traffic warden biting my head off, so I'll be waiting at the top end of Gordon street … just round the corner from Euston yeah – Just come out the front and it's on the left – over Euston road – OK see you in five … bye!"

"So – Sunday? Kathy's Sunday lunch."

"What about it?"

"Well, you know – how are you feeling about it?"

"It'll be fine, we'll be fine – I mean … do you think there'll be a problem?"

"No … well … maybe? I don't know – Kathy and Clare were always close and I just worry that she might -" Patrick was interrupted by a knock on the window, both jumped and turned towards their intruder, facing them was a slim man in his 50's with short grey hair in a kagool over a pair of faded cords. Opening the door Shelagh jumped out and pulled the man into a tight embrace,

"Dad! How was your journey?"

"Och you know – much as always."

"Patrick – this is my Dad …"

"Michael McDonald, how do you do." Said the man, extending a hand across the driving seat to Patrick,

"Patrick Turner – it's a pleasure, I'll get your bag."

"Oh no need – pop the boot Shelagh love." having pushed his suitcase into the boot Michael McDonald seated himself behind his daughter and the trio pulled out from the side road. There was an awkward silence between them until Michael broke the silence, "So – Patrick, what is it you do for a living?"

"I'm a doctor – I work with Shalagh in maternity, she's one of the best midwives I've ever worked with." with a smile Shelagh turned to face Patrick slightly, before turning back to face the road.

"I can fair believe that, she's a good girl, eyes on the road Shelagh … so how long have you been doing that?" Patrick understood the subtext to the question, he knew what Michael McDonald was trying to ask, averting Shelagh's gaze he inhaled slowly.

"Since I graduated from Trinity Dublin really … far longer ago than I care to remember."

"Ahh – so you're Irish?"

"No no, my wife was Irish … we met in London while I was doing my first degree but married in Dublin while I was training to be a doctor."

"You've been married before? Slow down Shelagh – I can see the camera."

"Uh yes I have been married before, I'm sorry to say that I lost my wife about 4 years ago."

"I am sorry to hear that, truly … do you have children?"

"A son -"

" -Tim," Interrupted Shelagh, acutely aware that her father, although kind and gentle by nature, was also a fiercely protective man when it came to his three children, and that if she didn't intervene then his line of questioning would only get more intrusive. "his name's Tim, he's great, a credit to Patrick."

"Glad to hear it, so you're not raising a little hooligan between the two of you then?"

"No we're not I'm glad to say." Replied Patrick, turning in his seat to face Shelagh with a smile, who blushed and pulled out from the t-junction.

* * *

*Just picked up the boy from school – what time do you want us? X*

*7? Will Tim hold off eating till then? X*

*Ha – I'll hold him at gun-point so he does – 7 is it x*

*Great, see you then x*

"OK mate – we're going to get to Shelagh's for about 7ish, alright by you?"

"Yeah – can I have something to eat now?"

"No, I promised Shelagh I'd hold you off till we get to hers."

"Can we carry on watching the Sherlock DVD then?"

"I suppose – but only one, I want a shower before we set off. Where did we leave them last time?"

"The one with the naked woman is – it's the Hounds of the Baskerville now."

"Have you ever thought about reading the books? They're good – I could buy them for you."

"I don't know if I'm good enough yet, Mandy's still got me on little kids books, they're shit!"

"Tim – language please."

"You swear."

"And I am old and corrupted already, it's too late for me – you're still young, there's still time for you to end up a better person than me."

"Swearing doesn't make you a bad person, look at John Barrowman."

"Oh God – you're your mothers' son alright. So what's wrong with the books that Mandy's getting you to read?"

"They're just little kids books – I mean like I get that I need to start somewhere, but I want proper stuff to read, not books about magic keys."

"The Sherlock Holmes books are short, I mean there's that going for them, and if you enjoy the show then maybe you'll like the books."

"Aren't they a bit like old fashioned?"

"Holmes is a heroin addict – so it's basically it's the Wire circa 1890."

"Really? He's on heroin?!"

"Yeah, well it's opium – it's how he unwinds. I mean it was all legal until something like the 1920's."

"Really!"

"Mmm – it was a hay-fever cure and stuff like that for ages."

"Wow – that's so weird. Right – can I stick the DVD in?"

"Yeah go for it mate."

* * *

Shelagh poured out the larger into two glasses and handed them to Michael and Patrick, while she nodded Tim toward the fridge,

"Help yourself Tim, you know where everything is. So how are you two boys then?"

"Oh fine, me and Tim were just watching the Sherlock DVD."

"Ahh Jeremy Brett?" said Michael.

"No no – the new one, with Benedict whatshisface."

"Cumberbatch."

"That's the one love, it's good – filmed in Cardiff you know?"

"Mmm – like Doctor who and Torchwood."

"Yes – Tim wants to go to the Doctor who centre thing in Cardiff."

"I can't understand why they'd film so many things in Wales, it seems like such an odd place to me." Added Michael, taking a sip of his beer,

"Well I suppose It's got everything you need; major cities, countryside, sea-side, quarries, and relatively quiet – perfect for filming I'd imagine." replied Shelagh,

"Mmm."

"Dad still hasn't forgiven Wales, after he met a rude Welshman on holiday in Edinburgh one year!"

"He wasn't just rude Shelagh – he was a terrible man – you know he said that George Lazenby was a better James Bond than Sean Connery!"

"… Blimey – he sounds awful!" replied Patrick with a laugh, before the silence in the room quelled his laughter and he buried his face in his larger.

* * *

Shelagh collected up the plates, and started through to the kitchen with the pile,

"I'll give you a hand love."

"I'd rather you didn't." said Michael sat behind at the table, he took a sip of his drink and gave Patrick a small smile nodding towards his chair,

"Tim, why don't you give me a hand with the dishes … I've got some more squash if you want?"

"Thanks." watching his son and girlfriend walk into the kitchen, as she turned to shoot Patrick a supportive smile, he sat himself back down and turned slowly to face Michael McDonald. "So – you wanted me?"

"I wanted to speak with you yes. About Shleagh."

"Yes I imagined you might … I know that I'm older than her and that you might not -"

"Ach stop your havering, it's not that I care about. What I do care about mind is that my bairn is happy, and I want to make sure that she is. See?"

"I do, I mean … did you want to know about me? My … uh … prospects?"

"Do I look like a Jane Austin? Haud your weesht lad, _prospects? _I want to know that you'll make her happy, I dinnae care about how much you earn or if you have debts. I ken you lost your wife, and I ken that you'll want what's best for your wee lad … and I want to be sure that my Shelagh is the woman for you, someone you love and someone you'll protect … and that she's not a replacement for your late wife."

"Clare? No, she's not a replacement for Clare – I never imagined that I'd ever fall for anyone ever again, let alone have someone as clever and kind and intelligent as Shelagh fall for me. It took me quiet by surprise, and I can promise you that me and Tim went along well before she came into my life, and we'll carry on going along well now that she has. I can't promise you that she'll always be happy with me, but I'll do my best."

"Do you think you'll live happily ever after?"

"No, I think we'll muddle along buggering things up like every-one else."

"Well at least she's fallen in love with a realist – there's hope for us yet!"


	12. Chapter 12

**_Good Evening everyone,_**

**_Another chapter, I suppose it's a chapter 11 part 2 because this is where Shelagh meets Kathy, Patrick's sister in law. _**

**_I wanted to get some writing out of the way, because I'm up to my ears in paperwork and shifts for the next week – so it may be a little while before we have the next instalment – which is why you've had two chapters close together!_**

**_I hope you're all still enjoying the story – it still means so much to me whenever I get an email saying I've got a review. You're all so lovely for doing – and please do continue, you've all been so positive about this fan-fic which is amaizing. I just write as a hobby between shifts and studying so it's great that you've all enjoyed this one so much!_**

**_Hope you like this one!_**

* * *

_"Oh, pull yourself together Lewis. You're only young once, and that was a long time ago. I'll buy you a drink; you can bang on about how perfect everything was in your day... When I say "buy you a drink", I should point out that I don't actually have any cash."_

Patrick smiled at the tele, draining the last of his mug of tea he settled it down on the table and rested back into the corner of the settee again, his spare arm resting across Shelagh's shoulders as they watched the Lewis repeat.

"Have you seen the seventh series? You know they get together in the end."

"Yeah – they always do in these things, it's like Frost in the last episode with Phyllis whatsherface."

"Logan."

"Mmm and Quincy, didn't he get a girlfriend in the end?"

"Yeah I think a wife … she was a doctor wasn't she, I mean in the series not in real life."

"A wife? Doesn't sound very Quincy-ish to me."

"Some people have odd relationships, marry unlikely people – look at Liza Minelli and David Guest!"

"Jesus were they married?"

"Mmm, and Peter Sellers."

"No? Really? Blimey, gets about a bit doesn't she … do you know that Julie Walters is married to an AA man?"

"As in the Automobile Association or Alcoholics Anonymous?"

"Automobile Association, another brew?"

"No, thanks – I'd best be off home, Dad'll be back from his wake soon and I've got to have a late night today, I'm on nights this week – I need to sleep through tomorrow morning. What time do we need to be at Kathy's tomorrow?"

"About 1-ish, I'll pick you up if you like? Around 11:30? It's about an hour to Gravesend from the east end so that should do it, and then we're not in a rush."

"Perfect, what's Kathy like?"

"Nice, she's nice, louder than Clare ever was – tells you what she thinks without too many qualms, but a kind soul all told. She and Clare moved to England from Dublin when they were in their late teens – early twenties, I think Clare moved over to study at university and Kathy decided to follow so she must have been about 22 or 23 at the time. She married a fairly well off lawyer and moved over to the commuter belt, raised their 2.4 children, drives a Vauxhall -"

"Obviously -"

"Obviously! She's a nice, kind, decent person, not at all like her sister, and not the kind of person I'd want to marry – but some men want a wife who'll drive the kids to school and be … efficient."

"Are you saying that I'm inefficient?"

"No – well you are, but even if you were insanely efficient it's not a quality that I'd … value in a partner, you're intelligent and funny and you're good company -"

"You're making me sound like Labrador! _Good Company_."

"That wasn't what I mean, you're also obstinate and difficult when you want to be! I just meant that when I'm with you I'm happy and I think that's much better for a relationship than picking a partner based on their ability to arrange the gymkhana around having the neighbours round for dinner."

"I think we can both agree that the day you want me to arrange the gymkhana around a dinner party is the day we both realise the severe limits to my talents. I really do need to go now, reluctantly."

"Tim will be sorry – he says you make better toast than me."

"Toast is toast isn't it?"

"You'd think so … right … good night then Nurse McDonald."

"Goodnight Dr Turner." Pulling her in for a hug, Patrick leant down to give her a kiss, it'd been a long time since he had had that kind of physical closeness to another human being, and it was, he found almost like physiotherapy for a hip-replacement, learning how to love again was hard and time consuming and exhausting, but like taking one's first steps again after surgery it was liberating and joy inducing. Breaking away from her lips, with a smile he said,

"What's a frog's favourite drink?"

"What?"

"What's a frog's favourite drink?"

"I don't know … what?"

"Croaka-Cola!"

"Oh for goodness sake – night Patrick!"

"Night love."

* * *

The front door was opened by an efficient woman in green, who scanned the trio stood on her doorstep quickly before she broke into a wide smile that was almost identical to Tim's. Shelagh felt a pang in her chest as she recognised what must be a familial trait of Clare's family, passed onto her son, and it hurt her to see it, if only for a moment before she gathered herself and tried to return the smile.

"Pat, Tim – hello my lovelys! Come in come in! Oh Tim you've grown, my you've grown – Patrick hasn't he grown?!"

"I imagine he has yes, hello Kathy, how are you?"

"Oh grand grand you know me, 374 things to do in the day and still going! You're looking tired, are you getting enough sleep? Ahh – and is this the culprit of those tired eyes? You must be Shelagh, hello my love. Come in come in!"

Slightly overwhelmed by the small dark haired woman with her rolling Dub accent, who pulled all three of them into the hallway of her smart detached house, with its polished brass door knocker and shining black glossed front door. She felt Patrick's hand slip into hers and run his thumb along the side of her hand, she stepped forward, pushing herself slightly into his arm to feel him there, stepping over the threshold she let go of his hand and raised her head to me meet her hostesses eyes.

"Kathy – it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh think nothing of it, wouldn't dream of not having you over. I must say you're younger than I expected."

"Shall we go through to the living room!?" Said Patrick quickly, placing his hands on Tim's shoulders and steering him away from the front door,

"Tim, our Jack and Ciaran are upstairs on the x-box, go up and say hello to your cousins! Pat, Shelagh – come on through, I don't know where Mark is – pottering in his shed I suppose, I'll go and get him – did you want tea or coffee?"

"Tea please Kathy."

"Same – white, no sugar please." Kathy strode purposefully out of the lounge and away into the depths of the house, with a sigh Patrick settled himself down on the beige sofa, shifting the artistically arranged scatter cushions away to seat himself back. He looked up at Shelagh who had stayed standing, twisting her hands awkwardly, extending his arm he looped a finger through the belt loop of her jeans and pulled her down back next to him.

"Are you alright love?" He asked gently, sliding an arm around her waist and ran his hand softly against her arm through the fabric of her shirt, Shelagh shifted slightly, twisting round to almost face him.

"I'm fine – she's nice … she looks like Tim."

"… Yes, family resemblance, Tim looks like her boys too. Is that OK?"

"Yeah of course it is, I'm just being daft."

"Shealgh, you're not being daft! You're meeting my late wife's family, this was never going to be easy for you, for us – both of us. Kathy's a bit brash, but if she didn't like you you'd know about it by now. Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah of course I am … did you bring your cigarttes?"

"Yes … why?"

"Good – I may be calling on your services later on."

* * *

Standing outside the back door, their backs to the kitchen window Shelagh slid her hand into Patrick's pocket and pushed her palm flat against his before twisting her fingers in-between his. The click of the lighter broke the Autumnal quiet of the garden, passing her the lit cigarette Patrick placed his own to his lips and inhaled,

"So … better or worse than you thought?"

"Less traumatic I'll give you that – she's nice."

"Told you. And she likes you."

"You told me that and all, and since when have you been Pat?"

"Oh yeah, Irish thing I suppose, Clare did the same … never really thought about it to be honest. Here – did you see Mark? Recognise him?"

"No, was that what that significant look was over the table earlier?"

"Yeah – Mark Dervish."

"Name rings a bell … did he do some high profiled case or something?"

"About … hmmm – six years ago it must be, he got into trouble with the CPS – he was defending this drug-dealing scumbag type, big case but quite dull – didn't make the papers until," he paused to take another drag of his cigarette, "he was found out sleeping with the defendant's 18 year old girlfriend and snorting coke off her naked body in his office. And then it hit the papers."

"Jesus I bet I did – and Kathy knows!? And she doesn't mind?"

"Oh she minded like hell, but she loves him, and he loves her and the kids – it was a midlife crisis of epic proportions!"

"Too right – hey, don't you be getting any ideas, you're not allowed a midlife crisis."

"Arguably you are my mid-life crisis. I think when men my age get themselves a girlfriend your age are defiantly in the midlife crisis category."

"Ha – no, if this was a midlife crisis you'd be riding me about on the back of your Harley Davidson, and I'd have a boob-job."

"Over rated – I'd rather have you as you are."

"Well in that case I'll crack open the pies – see if you'll still have me when I'm old and fat."

"Well you don't need to worry about that – I'll be dead by the time you get to that stage!"

"Oh you need a good slapping you do!"

"I'm lying – you're beautiful – always will be."

"You're not bad yourself Dr Turner." There was a knock on the window behind them as Kathy tried to catch their attention, crushing their cigarettes under their shoes the couple made their way back into the house.

"We're having afters, is crumble alright with you two?"

"Yes – thanks."

"Lovely – love, what time do you need to set off?"

"Oh you're not leaving already are you Shelagh?"

"I'm on nights this week – so I'll be needing a nap before work. Umm – in an hour or so would be good, are you sure you're alright to drive me?"

"Yeah yeah don't worry about it love. I'm just going to pop to the loo." Slipping out of the kitchen, Patrick left Shelagh and Kathy in the kitchen.

"Do you want a hand with the desert Kathy?"

"Oh well you can open that tin of custard, just pop it in the microwave would you – I think there's a jug under the sink."

"Right – under the sink."

"So – how are things with you and Pat?"

"Good I think, we're happy. Really happy, and Tim's a great kid, I'm really lucky to have them in my life."

"So you are, my sister God rest her soul, was a great woman, and she picked a great man. And so have you."

"I'll admit I was worried about meeting you, I was worried about how you'd feel about Patrick and me, I thought maybe you wouldn't approve."

"Oh no, I thought the same, but you're a nice girl Shelagh, I can see why Pat picked you. I'll be honest I didn't think he's ever move on from my sister God rest her soul, he really was traumatised when she passed over. You'll be good for him, you are good for him – I can see that already, he's looking better than he has for the past few years I can tell you that much … if a little tired, I'll assume that that's down to you?!"

"Umm possibly, I stay over quiet often yeah …"

"Well, at least someone in the family looks forward to the evenings at home … sorry. Right, is that custard done?"

"Yeah – I'll carry the bowls shall I?"

"Please, yes thank you Shelagh."


	13. Chapter 13

**_Yeah I lied, I said it would be a while before my next post – but it turn out that this is more fun than paperwork at the moment so here we have a new chapter of my little modern day Turnadette. It's a pretty fluffy chapter but that's because their MAY be angst to come … then again their might not be, you'll have to wait and see!_**

Thanks again for all the fab reviews and please do keep on sending them in, because they do make me stupidly happy!

This chapter's songs are:

- Tom Jones – Kiss  
- Pitbull ft Christina Aguilera – Feel this moment  
- McFly – It's all about you

**_(Yes – I have somewhat varied music tastes)_**

**_Enjoy x_**

* * *

_You don't have to be beautiful to turn me on, I just need your body, baby, from dusk till dawn. You don't need experience to turn me out, you just leave it all up to me I'll show you what it's all about. You don't have to be rich to be my girl, you don't have to be cool to rule my world. Ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with, I just want your extra time and your KISS._

"Shelagh? Turn it down a second …"

"Are you seriously asking me to turn down TJ?!"

"I am – now where did you want me to move the table?"

"Oh – ummm – into that corner, beside the sofa?"

"Right, how's the cake coming along?"

"Just cooling – I'll ice it in a bit, do you need a hand?"

"What makes you think I can't shift a coffee table on my own?"

"Just don't want you putting your back out old man!"

"Oh very witty – you know I could have you out on the street if you're not well behaved!"

_"__You don't have to be rich to be my girl, you don't have to be cool to rule my world. Ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with I just want your extra time and your KISS_ … come here you."

"I'm shifting tables – what do you want?"

"A kiss – come on, it is my birthday after all."

"Am I only allowed to kiss you on your birthday?"

"No – you're allowed to kiss me whenever you want, but you have to kiss me on my birthday. It's the law!"

"Well – I wouldn't want to break the law!" Patrick smiled as he stepped across his cluttered living room and picked up Shelagh's hand pulling her in towards him, he slid his hands to her waist and traced a finger under the hem of her top feeling the warm skin exposed at the base of her spine. Bending down slightly to compensate for the height difference Patrick leant in towards Shelagh, kissing her softly on the lips he kept his face a hairs breadth away from hers resting his forehead against her, he inhaled, breathing in her smell.

"Come on you – we need to get cracking, I've put Tim to work doing the song lists on my laptop. And I've got a cake to ice and you Dr Turner have got some furniture to shift, we'll be needing dancing and mingling room."

"Mingling you say?"

"Yeah, every good party has mingling and dancing."

"Now, before I let you go -"

_"__How sweet it is while lying down to hear fierce winds and hold a mistress with a tender grasp."_

"Keats?"

"A. M. Juster I think – sorry, go on."

"Before I let you go, would you like your birthday present?"

"I thought having the party at yours was my present?"

"Don't be daft, that's just a perk of being your boyfriend … don't get too excited, it's just something I thought you might like … I hope you do. Here." He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a box, around the size of a packet of cigarettes and wrapped in a blue patterned paper and taped up somewhat too well with sellotape. "Tim wrapped it – so you might need a blow torch to get through the tape!" Raking her thumb nail across the tape Shelagh tried to break into the present, it took a while but she eventually broke into one end and exposed the box underneath, covered in a dark green leatherette it was unmistakably a jewellery box.

"Patrick … what is it?"

"Well open it and see – don't get too excited, I just thought you might like it you know … I saw it in town with Tim and I thought of you." Gently Shelagh opened the box, breaking into a smile she looked up at Patrick,

"It's beautiful, it's so lovely and perfect, it's completely perfect … thank you."

"You like it then?"

"I love it – it's … it's perfect, and lovely and … beautiful."

"I was going to buy you a thesaurus but then I saw that -"

"Oh shut your face! I'm trying to be nice, but it is … lovely." She picked the silver necklace out of the box, it's small pendant, the size of a one pence piece was a silver jigsaw piece, running her thumb over the surface she smiled again before reaching up to put it on.

"Do you want a hand?"

"No – it's alright, I've got it … don't make that face. I know you like being a gentleman but after 30 – oh 31 years on the planet I've learnt to put on jewellery myself, I don't put your tie on for you."

"I'd let you if you wanted to."

"Well you're just kinky!"

* * *

_One day while my light is glowing I'll be in my castle golden but until the gates are open, I just wanna feel this moment, I just wanna feel this moment, I just wanna feel this moment …._

Patrick leant against the kitchen counter, a tin of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other he watched the party in the living room, with the over spill of chatting people in the kitchen stood among the fairy lights and music laughing and dancing and drinking and eating. The guests were a mixture of Shelagh's friends and their own mutual ones, with a smattering of colleagues churned into the mixture. Julie and Jenny were stood near the cooker, laughing wildly and drinking wine, while Cynthia and a squad of Shelagh's friends, some of whom he knew and some he didn't were dancing in the living room to the pounding music. Peter Noaks broke through throng in the kitche,

"Patrick! Brilliant party mate."

"Thanks Peter, it's all Shelagh's doing I'm afraid, she knows how to party!"

"That she does! Any more tins about?"

"Uh yeah – try the fridge. So how are things with you and uh … Camilla?"

"Oh yeah great, she's moving into mine next month."

"Braver man than me Gunga-Din, you won't have a plate left in the place within a week."

"Tell me about it – I thought about getting in plastic ones for the big move."

"You must be happy though."

"Oh yeah – I'm chuffed to bits. What about you and Shelagh? Thought about moving in together?"

"Not really, I would but it's a big ask – she's lived in her flat for years, it's her home. You're only asking Camilla to move out of halls, it's not quite the same is it."

"Suppose not no, but it's the same commitment."

"Yes you're ri -" Patrick broke off, turning as a chorus of singing started in the lounge,

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Shelaaaaaaaaagh! Happy Birthday to you! For she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow …. And so say all of us! And so say all of us, and so say all of us, for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow … and so say all of us!"

"Hip hip – hooray, hip hip – hooray, hip hip – hooray!"

"And one for good luck! Hip hip … Hooray!" a cheer went up, and there was a clamour of kisses and hugs and more cheers as Shelagh laughed and caught Patricks eye, having had her fill of attention she made her way back into the kitchen to join him.

"Quite the belle of the ball aren't we Nurse McDonald!"

"Oh shut up – come and dance with me."

"No love, I don't dance."

"Oh come on you do – I'm sure you do."

"Love, I don't dance, promise you now – you will never see Patrick Turner dance."

"Not even a slow dance?"

"A slow dance maybe – if you're lucky!

"Ha – I look forward to it!"

* * *

"Good night Patrick – well done, it's been great!"

"Night mate – thanks for coming. You off as well Julie?"

"Yes, I know Trixie was sorry that she couldn't make it! But you know Sister Evangelina …"

"I do, I do – well thanks for coming!"

"Oh you're very welcome, Stephen's had fun too – possibly too much, let's hope he makes it to bed tonight!"

"Let's hope – night Julie, night Stephen!"

"Ni-ni-night Patrick – excellent party! Best I've ever … ever … never been too. Good night … where am I going?"

"Turn right – no the other right … Lord, wish me luck Patrick!"

"Good luck!" With a laugh, Patrick turned and started back toward the kitchen, the last few stragglers were sat on the sofa or on the floor, the music has descended into slower quieter melodies as the slow fug of cigarettes drifted up towards the ceiling and cups and tins and glasses lined the edge of the room. The kitchen was deserted apart from Shelagh who was stood barefoot, her chunky cardigan over her navy party dress sipping tea. Making his way silently across the floor Patrick pulled up an armchair that had been moved into the kitchen for the party,

"Hello you."

"Hello yourself – had a good party Miss Birthday Girl?"

"I have – thank you."

"It was only a party."

"No I mean for everything – thank you."

"Well you're very welcome love." Shelagh smiled broadly and stepped slowly over to Patrick, lowering himself onto her lap she curled up her legs and tucked them up against the arm rest.

"I love you … I don't say it enough."

"I love you too – and you say it plenty often for me. Every time you say it I can quite believe that it's you who's saying it to me."

"Well it is, and I'll keep on saying it for a while yet." Pushing her hand down behind his neck, Shelagh pulled Patrick in tightly for a hug, feeling the flutter of his heartbeat from beneath his jumper against her chest. She handed him the mug of tea and he took the last mouthful and placed it on the counter. The music from the living room travelled through in strains, barely audible, shifting slightly in the chair Patrick kissed her softly on the cheek, and lacing his fingers through hers he pushed Shelagh upright and stood up himself.

"I owe you a dance." His hand on the small of her back, she stepped in close and rested her head against his collar, she felt the awkward shuffle of his hands as they struggled to find there place on her back, shifting slowly around the floor to the tune drifting in through the open door.

_Yesterday, you asked me something I thought you knew. So I told you with a smile 'It's all about you', Then you whispered in my ear and you told me too, Say 'If you make my life worthwhile, it's all about you'. And I would answer all your wishes, if you asked me to. But if you deny me one of your kisses, don't know what I'd do. So hold me close and say three words, like you used to do. Dancing on the kitchen tiles, it's all about you._

"Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, here's to many more."

"And cups of tea at two in the morning."

"And early starts."

"And bad jokes."

"That reminds me – How does a witch tell the time? With a witchwatch."

"Brilliant."


	14. Chapter 14

**_I warned you there might be angst and arguments, and here they come – things will come right … but it may not be easy, and it may not be quick, but such is life – and nothing in this world worth having comes easy._**

**_Thank you once again for all the truly wonderful reviews, and please do continue – everything is better when you take a moment to enjoy! _**

* * *

Patrick walked across the crowded room, scanning the collection of nurses and doctors and patients and porters and blood and mess and clutter that made up the hospital's A&E department. He was searching for her, when she had rung him at 2:20am he had naturally feared the worst when she had said where she was. But after a moments explanation she had explained everything and he had come down, grabbing the only clean thing to hand, his work shirt for the next day over his jeans and teamed with his rumpled hair it was an interesting if not wholly successful look. He found her, almost not recognising her for a moment, curled up in her coat over her pyjamas, her hair tied back messily and her glasses half way down her nose. The cup of hospital standard issue tea was clasped between her hands and resting a hand on her arm was a young constable, dark brown hair and a sympathetic smile.

Stopping in his tracks, Patrick watched the couple for a moment, was he really doing the right thing? Just for a moment he doubted every decision he had made over the last 8 months, just watching her with a man the same age as her made his heart ache and he felt guilty, he was sure that the young constable didn't have an almost teenaged son, wasn't a widow, didn't have greying hair. Taking a sip of her tea, Shelagh straightened up in her seat and turned slightly in her seat towards Patrick, catching sight of him she stood up and her coat fell open slightly showing the thick blood coating that spanned her stomach, chest and smudged down onto her pyjama bottoms. She held out her hand to him, without pause to breath Patrick ran to her and drew her into his arms, her ran a hand along the back of her hair, he felt her ragged breath against his chest as she buried her head into him and as she pulled away he saw her tear stained face, her eyes swollen and red.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course I would, you know that surely?"

"Excuse me Sir, are you Mrs McDonald's husband?" Asked the constable peering over Shelagh's sholdour,

"Mmm? No no, I'm her partner, Patrick Turner. What's happened?"

"Uh, Miss McDonald's been very brave. There was a shooting on the Powell estate tonight, your girlfriend tried to save a woman's life … and then chased down the man who did it. Not a line that we generally recommend but in this case, she's been very brave and very lucky and helped us greatly. She's helped us catch the ring leader of a gang that CID's been after for quite some time."

"Can I take her home?" Patrick asked, Shleagh had returned to burying her head against his chest, he stroked her hair, imploring the constable.

"We have someone from CID who needs to speak to Miss McDonald … but perhaps that can wait 'till morning Sir … Miss McDonald? Shelagh?"

"Love?" Trying to turn Shelagh away from him to face the policeman, he bent down to whisper in her ear, "Love, the policeman needs to speak to you." after a moment she sniffed and turned around, facing the constable with blank staring eyes.

"I uh – I will need your closed Miss McDonald, why don't you wait hear and I'll see if I can find you something to wear, you'll also have to see a doctor … we'll need to take same samples. I'll just go and … umm"

* * *

The drive home was horrific, Shelagh sat next to Patrick, her eyes focusing on nothing, staring out of the windscreen. Patrick tried to talk to her but she didn't reply. Since she had let go of him in A&E to face the policeman she hadn't made any other contact with him, instead she was led by him, lead to her seat to wait for her fingernails to be scrapped, led towards the car and now she sat blankly, with nowhere else to be led. He laid a hand on hers, that rested limply on her thigh, but there was no indication that she felt anything, he could have been a ghost.

He passed a cigarette to her, for a second her eyes moved from the city lights and to the cigarette, extending her hand she took the cigarette in shaking fingers that scattered ash over the borrowed scrubs that the policeman had given to her. She held it the whole journey back to Patrick's house, never inhaling she just let it burn down.

The house was still dark when they arrived, leading her up the their bedroom Patrick tried to get her to lie down in the bed, she lay down obediently and lay flat on her back, unmoving and blinking slowly. Patrick sat down on the edge of the bed and touched her hand with the tips of his fingers.

"You're like ice." Shelagh turned slowly towards him, and blinked,

"Can I go home please?" he voice croaked, her eyes focusing for the first time that night on his own.

"You are home love."

"I want to go home."

"Shelagh, you are home."

"My home."

"Yes … if you want."

"I want to go to my home. I want to go home to the flat."

"Shelagh love, I'm not leaving you on your own tonight. And I'm not sending you back to that place."

"I want to go home."

"Shelagh, you live in a … in a sink estate, in the arse end of the arse end! There's been a shooting there for Christ sake, I mean … I love you, and I'm not sending you back there. Not now and not ever!"

"I want to go home."

"Shelagh … have some sleep, you need it, you're in shock."

"I … I want to go home, why won't you let me?"

"Shelagh – you live in a dangerous place, it's a shit hole, violent and full of hate and drugs and … and you're too good, too important for it!"

"I WANT TO GO HOME! Why won't you listen to me?! It's my home, mine, the only place since I left Scotland that's been my home! You think you're better than me because you live here, not on the estate! It's my home Patrick and I want to be there!"

"Shelagh, you're not thinking straight."

"I'm not Clare!"

"I know … I know you're not."

"I'm not your wife, I don't need protecting … I'm not yours. I worked for 3 years in The London's A&E, you think I've never been attacked? Or abused or spat at or have vile people vomit on me, or try and stab me? Because I have, I had it every day, and now I get angry hormonal woman raging at me, and I cope, because it's what I do. It's what I do, and the only place I've ever felt safe is that 600 square feet of space in what you call a shit hole. But it isn't, it's people who look after each other, because you have to when it's all you have. I left my flat because 83 year old Gladys Pugh was shot by a man from Birmingham who wanted money, Gladys Pugh lived in the flat across from mine, she was born in one of the old tenement buildings that was behind the new estate, she worked in a café on the docks until she was 75, she had six children, her son Brian owns the café now and every day she walks three miles back to her old café on the docks and sits in the window while her son and her granddaughter talk to her. Her Granddaughter Paige is starting university in September, she's going to be a doctor, she's the first person in her family to go to university, and Gladys was so proud. She married in 1948 to Michael Corrigan, they were married for 60 years until he died, they went on holiday every year to the Brecon Beacons, stayed in the same room of the same hotel, until four years when they went on holiday to Giza, she rode a camel and saw the Sphynx. Do you know that much about your neighbours? Do you even know their names?"

"No."

"And we're the scum, in the shit hole sink estate in the arse end of the arse end."

* * *

"I got back from work at about eight, quarter past maybe. I had a shower and made some food and settled down in front of the tele."

"You were contacted by Mrs Corrigan's son?"

"Brian, yes. I was in bed, and I heard a knock at the door, Brian just told me it was Gladys and that they needed help. He had rung for an ambulance already but they needed help … she was bleeding out. I tried to stop the bleeding but I couldn't, I tried I tried and she just kept on bleeding out, I couldn't stop it and then … ummm, Brian was still on the phone to the paramedics and so I told him to press down on the wound and I took the phone, I thought I might be able to tell them something … it all happened so fast, she just wouldn't stop bleeding … everywhere."

"When did you notice Mr Buile Miss McDonald?"

"Who?"

"Mr Buile was the gentleman who you captured."

"That's his name is it? Umm, I saw a shadow move and then he moved, he was behind the door … he was so young, he looked like a boy … a child. He looked scared, I almost …"

"Miss McDonald?"

"I almost felt sorry for him, and then I saw the gun in his hand and her handbag in the other and … I think he saw that I saw and he panicked, he tried to run and I just saw red. He had destroyed this woman, this lovely woman who never wanted to hurt anyone … she was so proud of Paige … and I knew that if I didn't chase him then he'd just keep on running and I couldn't let Gladys and Michael down."

"What happened then?"

"He ran and I dropped the phone … he was fast, in trainers so … he was quick but I tried to chase him, he was quicker than me, but once he was out of the building he was … it's a messy estate, sprawling, easy to get lost in if you don't know it … I've lived there about umm eight years, I know it like the back of my hand. I ran around the back of the building and saw him run across in front of me, so … I don't remember … I remember cutting across the bins but … I'm not sure, I remember catching hold of his wrist and he, faltered I think. I think I tried to kick him, I managed to get my hand round his throat and pull him down and back … I don't remember what happened then. Just being in the hospital … and then … then that's it."

"That's all you remember?"

"Yes. What'll happen to him now?"

"It'll go to court, he's being investigated for some other charges too. None like this though, we're hopeful."

"What'll happen to him?"

"It's too early to say … but we're hoping for prison, ten to fifteen all in all. But like I said it's too early to say."

"He was just a boy, he was scared."

"He's a murderer Miss McDonald."

"I know, and he deserves to be punished but … he's a child, I saw it in his eyes."

"You have children Miss McDonald?"

"I have a … no, no I havn't. Have you Inspector?"

"Three, and however much of child he was, I feel a lot safer knowing that they can walk about and not risk bumping into him."

"I suppose you're right."

"You've got someone to look after you at home have you? You're boyfriend?"

"No, we've … had an argument, silly really but … makes you see things differently sometimes, an argument."

"That it does, amount of rows me and the missus have had over the years. Blazing rows that could have woken the dead, but when you love someone – it's different, you know you just have to swallow your pride and dig through. Nothing worth having comes easy – as my old Mum used to say."

"A wise woman."

"Wise, and a romantic. Turns out it's genetic."

"Wisdom?"

"Romance."


	15. Chapter 15

**_Blimey, that last chapter was unpopular wasn't it! Not a single review, I'm going to blame the scorching weather meaning that none of you read chapter 14 – and not that you all hated it! I do hope you didn't, anyway – here we have chapter 13, where hopefully you can all enjoy yourselves a little more!_**

**_ Thank you all again for all your reviews, they really all are fabulous and please do carry on!_**

**_ This chapter's songs are:_**

**_- Don't go breaking my heart – Elton John_**  
**_ - Glory Box - Portishead_**

**_Enjoy! X_**

* * *

_**Further A/N: for those of you outside the UK, the reference to James Naughtie and "Hunt-gate". JN is a BBC radio4 presenter, on the Today program who made an unfortunate and infamous spoonerism at around 8am involving Jeremy Hunt the Culture secretary**_

* * *

_Don't go breaking my heart, I couldn't if I tried. Oh honey if I get restless, baby you're not that kind. So don't go breaking my heart.__You take the weight off of me, oh honey when you knock on my door. I gave you my key__. Nobody knows it, when I was down I was your clown. Nobody knows it, right from the start, gave you my heart._

Whoever was running the juke-box in the pub had a dark sense of humour, Patrick checked his watch, 2:27, she might be running late, but then again she might not be. He had been waiting an hour or so, arriving early was out of character for him but then – this was important. He had to make sure this was one meeting that he didn't miss, was late for or other whys messed up. He took a sip of his pint and ran his biro along the page of his news-paper.

**_Eastern European buff (6)_**

He tapped the top of the paper with the pen and roughed out his options above the headline,

"Buff … buff … wipe … shine …"

"Polish, the Eastern European bit it is Polish, and to buff is to polish." turning sharply in his seat, Patrick turned to face the owner of the voice. Shelagh was wrapped up in her coat against the cool winter air, she stood behind his chair, her fingertips resting against the sticky varnished wood of the back.

"Well done, very clever."

"I've been spending too much time with you and the Sunday papers clearly."

"Clearly. I bought you a drink."

"Thanks, very kind." Unzipping her jacket, Shelagh pulled up the seat opposite him, she pulled the glass of gin and tonic towards her, running her finger around the cool glass rubbing off the condensation. "How have you been?"

"Well, me and Tim have just been dossing about watching Sherlock … the usual. And you?"

"I'm fine. I went to Gladys Pugh's funeral … look I should apologise."

"You don't have to."

"No I do, I have to because I was … cruel. I shouldn't have talked like that about Clare."

"You were right though, when I was with you it was like … like learning a different language. You're so different to how she ever was and I know I didn't always get it right."

"All the same, I am sorry."

"So am I – I was scared of losing you, and in my mind I just wanted to protect you and keep you safe. With Clare she … she needed protecting, she was a kind woman who wouldn't say boo to a goose. You're not like that, but I'm used to trying to protect the people I care about. I went about it all wrong. I shouldn't have said all that about your flat, my only excuse was that I was in shock."

"Yeah … me too. How have you been?"

"Good, sent Tim off for the weekend … you?"

"Oh you know, the usual, got a lot of cleaning done, a lot of karaoke too actually."

"Jesus – do the girls all think I a total knob?"

"No no, you're safe. If they though that you had hurt me you'd have a knife in-between your shoulder blades by now. I didn't tell them a thing … I wasn't sure what was going to happen. So, shall we do this?" She looked up from her glass and looked into his eyes, she watched him lick his lips slowly before he nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket as she slipped her hand into her coat pocket they both, in unison pulled out the keys.

"Sure? There's no going back now."

"Good. That's the way it should be, no going back … in for the long haul!"

"I concur – so … here you are, there's only the one key for the front door, but you have to turn the key left then right."

"Of course you do! Right, well no such issues with mine, the brass key is for the main door on the tower block and then the silvery one is for my front door … so that's that."

"That's that. Well you know, now you can just pop over whenever you want."

"Likewise, I suppose I'll have to keep the flat a bit tidier now, in case of spot inspections."

"I'm not much bothered about the flat to be honest … as long as you've got clean sheets!"

"I'll do my best! I'd best be off I suppose … come round whenever you like …"

"Tonight? Tim's gone to Kathy's for the weekend – I didn't want him to deal with all this."

"If you like, bring a bottle – I'll cook. Let yourself in …"

"I will love … and I love you."

"I love you too, and even if I didn't … now you've got my front door key I'd be a bit screwed!"

* * *

_I'm so tired of playing, playing with this bow and arrow. Gonna give my heart away, leave it to the other girls to play, for I've been a temptress for far too long. Just give me a reason to love you, give me a reason to be a woman; I just wanna be a woman._

"Are you OK?"

"Never better – just … need a second to … catch my breath … this is what happens when you seduce old men … You know, you're the only person I've ever met who actually has sex to music."

"It wasn't deliberate – this is what happens when you seduce young women doing the washing up with Radio 2."

"Better than Radio 4 – I'm not sure John Humphries would approve."

"No … maybe James Naughtie, he always seems quite fun."

"You're only saying that because of Hunt-gate."

"Maybe you're right. Umm – do you fancy some bacon?"

"It's 3 in the morning."

"It's breakfast time somewhere, Pakistan maybe? And bacon shouldn't be constrained by the hour of the day anyway."

"What a very eloquent description of bacon, I think you ought to marry me."

"I think Bacon is a poor basis for marriage."

"Probably, but I still want you to marry me."

Shelagh paused, flat on her back, watching a fly dance across the ceiling she turned sharply, twisting onto her side she looked into Patrick's eyes. He stared back at her, raising an eyebrow he gave her half a smile and extended a hand to run his hand along her exposed arm.

"You're insane. I mean you're wonderful and brilliant and I love you, but you are insane."

"Certifiable. What do you think."

"I think you're mad, I also think that a massive row and resultant fantastic sex is in no way the basis for a lasting marriage."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"You're welcome, right, I'm going to cook some bacon. Pass me that t-shirt."

"No, I refuse."

"Well I'm not going to cook bacon naked, the burns would take some explaining to A&E, now pass me that top!"

"I refuse, unless you marry me!" He replied, a smile playing on his lips as he sat up in the bed, blocking Shelagh's way to the t-shirt. She made a feeble attempt to reach around and grab it from the side of the bed, but he caught her wrist and his smile broadened.

"Patrick, I'm not going to marry you! You've had too much to drink …"

"OK, I've had too much to drink, and I'm full of adrenalin and endorphins … would you ever?"

"Ever? Yes … I might."

"Think about it?"

"I'll think about it, but only if you give me my bloody top so I can go and cook some bacon!"

"Deal." Handing over her t-shirt Shelagh started laughing, she pulled the top down over her stomach she tilted her head back and carried on laughing, bending down she kissed Patrick softly on the lips.

"You're ridiculous, you're brilliant but you're completely insane and ridiculous."

* * *

*is it against hospital policy to slap fathers to be? S X*

*Probably, I've never checked – any reason? P X*

*He's got the radio on to listen to the cricket S x*

*Early labour is dull I suppose P x*

*She's 10cm dilated! Sx *

*Shall I drive in and give him a stern talking to? P X*

*Yes please! S x*

* * *

Tim kicked his legs against the velour of the seat cover, Simon's Dad had once again agreed to bring him home from scouts, and having dropped his own son off with his mother he was now snaking his way across east London towards Tim's house. Pulling up at a set of red lights he turned slightly towards Tim.

"So Tim, the woman I … umm met, at your Dads?"

"Shelagh?"

"Is that her name?"

"Yeah."

"Is she a … friend of your Dads then?"

"Yeah she's his girlfriend; it was a bit weird at first. But it's cool now … they had a bit of an argument last month, Dad thinks I don't know because he sent me to Aunty Kath's house, but I know. They're fine again now though, happier really."

"She's nice is she? Shelagh?"

"Yeah, she's really nice. She took me to the Huntrian museum last week!"

"What's that?"

"It's a museum that this weird surgeon made, it's got loads of pickled organs in, it was really gross!"

"Ahh - thinking about following in your Dad's footsteps then?"

"Oh no, I don't want to be a doctor, there was animal stuff there too, like stuffed birds and pickled baby chickens – that's what I liked. Shelagh's really good, she showed me all how animals develop inside – because she's a midwife see. And then how different animals reproduce so that some have live babies and some have eggs. There was a dead snake full of eggs – it looked like a sock full of oranges!"

"I imagine it would … so they met at work then?"

"Who?"

"Your Dad and Shelagh."

"Oh yeah, they've been friends for years I think … well thanks for driving me home."

"Oh your welcome, do you want me to come to the door with you?"

"No, I'm fine thanks. Dad's not in anyway, Shelagh's on nights so she's going let me in."

"Oh … well are you sure you wouldn't like a hand with your bag?"

"You can if you want …"

Leaving the people carrier, Simon's Dad and Tim made their way up the garden path towards the front door, waiting for someone to answer their knock the stood awkwardly. Tim had no idea why his friend's Dad wanted to come to the door so much, usually he just dropped him off and called a few words through the car window to Tim's father, but he had insisted on coming. After a few moments they could hear the padding of foot-steps on the stairs, and the vague outline of Shelagh appeared through the mottled glass of the front door. Appearing in her pyjamas and a pair of bed socks Shelagh smiled noticing Tim before his companion.

"Hey love, how was camping?"

"Good thanks … umm Simon's Dad wanted to drop me off."

"Oh right – well thanks!" She said, turning to the man, suddenly aware that her shorts and vest combination wasn't leaving as much to the imagination as she would have liked,

"Oh no probs, it was a pleasure … actually umm …"

"Yes?"

"Could I use your toilet?"

"Oh umm, yeah of course, there's one just next to the kitchen." she paused to let the man pass, before turning back to Tim. "So, come on then – what did you get up to?"

"Usual, tents and walking – can I watch tele?"

"Yeah course, do you want something to eat before I go back to bed?"

"Can I have coco-pops?"

"Yeah, give me your bag too, I'll shove all your stuff in the washing machine."

"Thanks Shelagh." Picking up the ruc-sack she wandered into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle before bundling up the contents of the bag into the machine and decanting some cereal into a bowl. She was pouring herself a cup of herbal tea when there was a cough behind her and she turned on her heels to see who it was.

"Hi, sorry I forgot about you! You're Simon's Dad aren't you?"

"Yeah – call me Mark."

"Right … so …"

"Right yeah so you're Patrick's -?"

"Girlfriend yeah. Well I was just going to have a cup of tea and …"

"Oh great that'd be great." He replied eagerly sitting down at the kitchen table, smiling widely at her,

"Oh right … great!" she tried to look enthusiastic about the possibility of the company when she needed sleep before her night shift. Making him a cup of tea she sat down opposite Mark and began what she knew was going to be an unending diatribe of some sort.

Three hours later she heard the front door go and she looked up with relief as Patrick walked into the kitchen, he looked surprised as he saw her sat in the kitchen at four in the afternoon.

"Hi love, why are you up?"

"Mark dropped Tim home … three hours ago, he wanted a cup of tea."

"Oh hi Mark, yeah love – why don't you go to bed, I'll wake you up for work."

"Sorry Shelagh, I completely lost track of time!" Replied Mark, standing up sharply, looking between the couple, before awkwardly picking up his coat and pausing again to look between the two of them.

"It's fine, but I do need my bed if I'm going to get through tonight! Bye Mark." Shelagh gave Patrick a quick raised eyebrow as she stepped past them to move out of the kitchen, Patrick in turn watched her leave and then slowly rotated to face Mark.

"So, you've met Shelagh then?"

"Yeah – she's a great girl!"

"Yeah she really is … so … I mean thanks for dropping Tim back home and everything."

"Yes of course, I'd best be going … it was great to meet Shelagh, really was!"

"I'm sure. Bye then …"

"Yes bye – and say good bye to Shelagh for me!" Waiting for Mark to make his way back to his car Patrick poked his head around the living room door to check on Tim, who had fallen asleep in front of the cricket. He padded slowly up stairs to the bedroom, Shelagh had already fallen half asleep as he sat down on the edge of the bed, she stirred slightly and turned over to face him.

"You are never spending time with that man again."

"I like it when you get jealous. He's harmless enough – just a bit keen that's all."

"Who can blame him."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, but if you really loved me, you'd bugger off and let me get some sleep!"

"Hmm – I suppose you're lucky that I love you then."


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter 16 - is now live and kicking!_**

It's not exactly angsty - but it's not a cheerful or fun chapter. But it'll bring Shelagh and Patrick a little closer I hope!

**_Thanks for all my reviews so far - they're great fun to read! So please do continue, and I hope you enjoy this latest instalment! _**

**_X_**

* * *

Shelagh took a bite of her sandwich, coronation chicken from the small beige WRVS shop on the ground floor with a tin of Orangina, she had made herself a pasta salad the night before but she'd over slept and run out of the flat at full pelt that morning with barely enough time to feed Bernadette and had completely forgotten the tupperwear pot in the fridge. Washing down her mouthful with a sip of drink she flicked through the magazine abandoned on top of the staff room fridge. Someone who was famous for no apparent reason was getting married to a similar celebrity and someone off Coronation street had been photographed knicker-less rolling out of a taxi cab in the West End. Sighing she threw the magazine back onto the table and leant across to flick on the aging tele set that sat in the corner of the room balanced precariously on top of the lockers, after a moment of static the news came on.

_" … David Cameron has today called a press conference regarding the government's latest u-turn on NHS budget cuts. Health correspondent Jane Hughes has the full story …"_

Although intrigued by the governments latest cock up on the NHS, Shelagh was distracted by the tinny ringing of her mobile phone in her scrubs pocket, the screen declared that *Molly – mob* was ringing, leaning across without standing up off her chair she kicked the staff room door shut and answered the call,

"Afternoon Molls."

"Shelagh – sorry are you at work?"

"Uhh – yeah, I'm on a break. What's up hen?"

"It's Dad, he's in hospital."

"What?" quickly sitting up straighter in her chair and dumping the remains of her dinner onto the cluttered coffee table.

"It's his heart, I don't know Shelagh they won't say anything – he rang me to say he wasn't feeling well so I went around and he was really poorly Shelagh. I didn't know what to do but now they won't tell me anything."

"Oh my God, well should I come up?"

"Don't be soft – you can't come all this way. It's probably nothing – but I just didn't know who else to call. I was just scared."

"Oh God."

"Don't panic – it's all under control up here."

"Well look, where is he?"

"ARI, so he's in good hands and the staff have all been lovely – sorry I've got to go there's a doctor here to see me – sorry bye now."

"Right – bye." Pressing the end call button, Shelagh sat stock still on the uncomfortable hard plastic chair, she stood up quicker than she had intended and felt her brain lurch violently as she stumbled. Straitening up she walked quickly out of the staff room, her mobile still in her hand, she almost walked straight into Trixie who was stood at the nurses station flicking through some a set of notes.

"Ey baby girl, what's your problem, why you look so worried?"

"Sorry …"

"Ey don't be sorry – no harm been done. What's up baby girl?"

"Have you seen Patrick?"

"Yeah, sure he's in with John in room 2 – why you need him?"

"It's just a … I'm not sure. Room 2?"

"Room 2 – Shelagh, you don't look good girl, sit down for me."

"No – I'm fine."

"Shelagh you're not fine, you're not even a little bit fine. Sit down, I'll get your fella now, just wait eh." Trixie led Shelagh back behind the nurses' station and onto one of the swivel chairs before bustling off to room 2, her thick afro threatening to burst out of her hair bobble, as it threatened to every day but never did – Trixie's wild Trinidadian hair was a feat of engineering, both vast and soft while sturdy and controlled. It was around five minutes before Patrick had a suitable gap in the woman's labour to come out of the room, in all honesty the woman didn't really need him there, her labour was going smoothly and there were no complications, she was just nervous. And he knew that Shelagh was utterly devoted to her work, and if she was calling him out of a delivery room then she had good reason.

"Hi Love, what is Trixie said you'd had a funny turn?"

"It's Dad, my Dad. He's in hospital back home, Molly just rang me … it's his heart. Sorry – I just panicked. I think I'm going to have to go up there."

"Of course you do! Don't be silly, look – fly, that'll be the quickest. Why don't you go online now, buy yourself a ticket and umm … and I'll drive to your flat and grab you some clothes and your passport. And me and Tim'll take Bernadette in for however long you need – alright?"

"Yeah … yeah that'd be great. Thank you."

"Love, don't be daft."

"Trixie, can you page the on call obs registrar and get them up here PDQ?"

"Yeah of course my love."

* * *

It had only been at the last minute at the airport that Shelagh had finally thought to change out of her uniform, it was generally considered bad form to turn up to other hospitals in your own hospital's uniform. Now wrapped up against the Scottish rain that was pelting against the roof of the taxi in her jumper and jeans she switched on her phone for the first time in several hours. There was a missed call from Molly from about an hour before with an accompanying text,

*Just been moved to Cardio – 3rd floor – in the red zone. M X*

and a text from Patrick,

*Ring me if you need anything – T sends his love. Love you P X*

she rattled off two replies and was just pocketing the phone as the drew up outside the broad rectangular grey building. She hadn't been to the hospital in a very long time, probably since before she had left home, it hadn't changed much, whether that was reassuring or not she couldn't decide.

She walked briskly up the labarynthian corridors, sure that she was walking round in circles until she saw a sign for the red zone, and eventually found her way to the plasticy wooden doors of the cardio unit. A sign on the doors proclaimed in large red letters that:

**INFECTION CONTROL IS EVERYONE'S RESPONSIBILITY  
****please wash your hands on entering and leaving the ward**

having scrubbed her hands in the small sink she pressed the intercom and waited, after a moment a crackle came out of the speaker.

"Good morning Cardio."

"I'm here to see Michael McDonald."

"Come on in." There was a buzz as the door unlocked and an efficient dark haired nurse bustled over and smiled at Shelagh, "Hello there, you must be Shelagh?"

"Yes that's me."

"Your sister told us you were coming, I'm Shona, one of the staff nurses. If you want to pop into Bay 1, your Dad's in bed 5. I'll get Doctor Fraser to come and speak to you."

"How is Dad?"

"He's alright at the moment, go-on through, I'll get Dr Fraser for you."

"Thanks – uh Bay 1 bed 5 you said?"

"Yes, just on the left there."

Shelagh continued through the ward, passing the nurses station where two men in blues were typing feverishly while one had a phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear. The sign next to Bay 1 was the same as the one of the door to ward, dutifully washing her hands again, Shelagh passed into the room, its beige paint stained with the marks of detergent wiped across.

Sat next to her father sat Molly, she had one hand resting on his cannula filled hand and the other was rattling out a text on her mobile.

"Molls." Molly sat up and turned towards her sister, she stood up and reached across for a hug.

"Shelagh, thanks for coming, you didn't have to you know."

"Yes I did, and you can thank Patrick, he sorted out the flights and got me clean clothes."

"He's a good un' – there's been no change. The doctors done a – ECG is it?"

"Yeah it will be, is it in his file?"

"I think so." Shelagh reached across to the end of the bed to pick up file, flicking through to find the pink ECG sheet, she ran her finger across the line, tracing the rise and fall,

"Have the looked at his trop-t?"

"I have no-idea! You're the nurse…" Shelagh flicked through the file some more, hunting the sheet of paper with his blood results on. "Umm – have you had any word from Mike?" Asked Molly nervously, Shelagh looked up quickly with a frown.

"No, why? Have you rang him?"

"I've tried, but you know what our dear brother's like. The only phone number I had for him was switched off, I don't know if it's even his number any-more."

"Where is he at the moment?"

"Your guess is as good as mine Shelagh. Last time I spoke to him he was still in Chicago, but that was about 3 years ago."

"I had a three minute phone conversation with him … I don't know … 18 months ago, he was in Istanbul and needed his birth certificate sent to the British Embassy."

"Do you have the number he rang you on?"

"No no, no idea sorry. He could be anywhere now."

"Why was he in Istanbul?"

"Take a wild guess!"

"A girl?"

"Got it in one! I'll see if I can track him down – he should be here."

"He was never close to Dad though."

"He'd still want to be here."

"Sure about that?"

"Nope. So what have the doctors said about Dad?"

"Heart attack – bad – they want to put a sent it, what is that?"

"Umm – it's like a metal mesh that holds open a collapsed artery. So, what's happening?"

"The doctor -"

" - Dr Fraser?"

"Yeah, he said he needed to go and speak to someone and then he'd get back to us, that was about an hour ago. The nurses have been great though."

"Good."

"He will be alright Shelagh wont he?"

"Hope so Molls, how long have you been here?"

"About 10 hours now."

"Go on home to the kids, I'll take over for a bit."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah go-on, have a shower too – you look dreadful." She added with a smile,

"Cheeky bint. Alright – well ring me if you get any news."

"Will do, don't worry."

* * *

_ Will all passengers from the Air Lingus flight 306 from Dublin please be advised of delays on their connecting flight to Edinburgh. We apologise for any inconvenience caused._

Patrick and Tim wandered out of the departure lounge, their ruc-sacks on their backs filled with emergency supplies of clothes grabbed out of the drier in haste. Patrick looked about the collection of relatives and taxi drivers for any sign of Molly Kerr. After a moment of looking about and being pushed aside by business men in suits and families dragging tired children behind them he heard his name being called out in a thick Scottish brogue. He turned to face the source of the voice, it was a woman, in her mid 30's, similar to Shelagh – she had the same fair hair as her sister and had the same small frame although she wasn't quite as slim and her nose was somehow different, altering her face shape.

"It is Patrick isn't it? Shelagh told me to look out for a middle aged man with a young boy."

"Middle aged? I'll have her for that one, you must be Molly."

"That's me, it's lovely to meet you both."

"I only wish it were under more pleasant circumstances."

"Yes, and you must be Tim?"

"Yeah … hi."

"Hello there, well it's only a wee drive back to my house, Shelagh's come back to mine. Tim – I've put you on a camp bed on my lad Harry's room, he's only seven but I'm sure you'll get on alright. Patrick – you're in with Shelagh in the spare room."

"Thank you, this really is very kind of you."

"Och – don't mention it, you're family now."

"How is your father?"

"Doing well actually, the doctors are fairly confident, and I think we are too – to a degree."

* * *

Tim smiled broadly at the question, he looked between the three hopeful adult faces and enjoyed for a moment the feeling powerful and clever.

"It was really simple. I mean … not _really_ simple. But it was pretty easy." He said proudly,

"Well go on then!"

"Michael McDonald, your brother, is in France, Paris." taking a mouthful of peas he beamed at the family.

"How do you know?!"

"Well you said he had lived in Istanbul and Chicago. So I searched for people called Michael McDonald online. You said he was an artist, so I found a page from a French art magazine about a Scottish artist living in Paris. With a link to his Facebook page, and on the facebook page he had friends from Chicago and Turkey, as well as loads of other places. On his info bit it said that he was from Aberdeen originally, like, I know that you call him Mike – but he seems to be calling himself Michael on here … there was an address for his studio in Montmartre, so I googled for a phone number. It's here." He dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled down to find the phone number, after a second of hunting he passed his mobile across the table to Shelagh,

"You're a genius Tim!" Cried Molly, she took the mobile off Shelagh as it was passed around the table, Patrick smiled proudly at his son and took a mouth full of chicken.

"Yeah – my boy can be pretty clever when he wants."


	17. Chapter 17

**_Hello and welcome to my newest chapter, which I believe is 16 (?)_**

**_I really like this chapter, although it has taken me an age to write, for which I apologise_**

**_Just to warn you all, this chapter will contain some French – but because I'm a nice soul, the French conversation is in BOLD while the English translation is printed directly underneath in normal, just to help those of you whose grasp of French is as poor as mine and Patrick's – so I will also apologise for anyone who my bad hash of school girl French and google translate offends!_**

Thank you for all your incredibly generous reviews, and please carry on – each one is lovely to read and makes me happy! Which incidentally links …

**_This chapter's song is:_**

**_She makes me happy – Rod Stewart_**

**_Enjoy! x _**

* * *

**"Qui est-ce?"**

"Who is it?"

**"Uhh Bonjur mademoiselle … uhh … Je cherche … un … un homme appelé Michael McDonald?"**

"Uhh Hello Miss … uhh … I'm looking for … a … a man named Michael McDonald?"

**"Qui êtes-vous? Pourquoi voulez-vous parler à Michel?"**

"Who are you? Why do you want to speak to Michel?"

**"Uhh … Je suis son … umm … frère? Ugh … frère _in law. _Ahhh -Je suis le mari de sa sœur!"**

"Uhh I am his … brother? Ugh… Brother _in law. _Ahh -I am married to his sister!"

**"Beau-frère, vous êtes son beau-frère."**

"Brother in law, you are his brother in law."

**"Oui, merci! Je peux lui parler?"**

"Yes, thank you! Can I talk to him?"

**"Il ne parle pas à sa famille."**

"He doesn't talk to his family."

**"Il s'agit de son père … umm … Il est … malade."**

"It's about his father … umm … he is … sick."

**"Il ne parlera pas de vous … Mais je vais demander. Quel est votre nom?"**

"He wont speak to you … but I'll ask. What's your name?"

**"Je suis Patrick Turner, Merci, merci beaucoup."**

"I'm Patrick Turner, thank you, thank you very much."

* * *

_She makes me happy on the coldest day_**_, s_**_he makes me happy when the clouds are grey_**_. _**_Every day like Christmas when she's in my house_**_, s_**_he makes me happy and I'm wanna shout. Now it's funny old world, I never thought I could settle down_**_, b_**_ut the I met a woman gonna change my life around_**_. _**_Ah, the good Lord sent me down a little angel_**_, _**_I must change my way_**_, n_**_o more late nights out, we're on a boil, pissin' my life away._

As her mobile started to ring, Shelagh reached across to the radio and turned down the volume, the ID said Molly (home) , but given the number of people who had currently set up camp in Molly's small house it could have been anyone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Shelagh."

"Molly hi, how's things at base camp?"

"Much the same. Someone finally picked up the phone at that number Tim found for us!"

"My God … so?"

"It was a woman."

"Surprise surprise."

"Yeah – she only spoke French so I put your Patrick on the phone. He's a man of hidden talents."

"You didn't have him speaking French did you!? His French is aweful – I once heard him ask a patient if she could hold his chicken."

"It seemed to work today – he got through to him, after winning round his girlfriend … or girlfriend stroke secretary."

"That sounds more like Patrick, so?"

"So … he knows now about Dad."

"And …?"

"And that's it … he knows. He said OK, and thanked me for telling him."

"And that was it?"

"That was is, he went quiet and said he had to get back to work."

"He's not coming is he?"

"Shelagh – don't upset yourself!"

"I'm not I'm not I just … oh I don't know!"

"No … I know."

"I should get back to Dad."

"Any changes?"

"Nope, but they've taken off his oxygen, his sats are improving and his resps are down so that's good. They've taken more blood for a Trop-T but they havn't said anything about the results yet."

"Right … well that was all Dutch to me! But I take this is good news."

"It's not bad news put it that way."

* * *

**"Bonjur, J'ai besoin de parler à Michael s'il vous plait."**

"Hello, I need to talk to Michael please."

**"Il est occupé, je peux prendre un message! Je suis son épouse Aurélie."**

"He's busy, can I take a message, I'm his wife Aurélie."

**"Éspouse?"**

"Wife?"

**"Oui, je peux prendre un message?"**

"Yes, can I take a message?"

**"Je suis son Shelagh sœur, j'ai besoin de parler avec lui de toute urgence."**

"I'm his sister Shelagh, I need to speak to him urgently." There was a click at the other end of the phone and a scuffing sound as someone manhandled the receiver, before a man's voice came on the line.

"Shelagh!? Shelagh is it you?"

"Yeah – Mike?"

"It's me yeah, sorry – I thought it was going to be Molly again. I told Aurélie to say I was busy … sorry. So how are you?"

"Fine … you got married then."

"Yes, oh God Shelagh she's brilliant! She's a photographer, we met in this bar in Paris – she took my breath away. She's my muse Shelagh, she's incredible."

"Well that's nice, however, in the meantime our father is seriously ill in hospital over here and you need to come and visit him."

"Shelagh … me and Dad … you might want a fairy tail reunion but it's not -"

"Don't be soft, I don't care about reunions, fairy tail or other whys. I care that Dad could … could die thinking his only son hates him, and I care that you could live the rest of your life with your last memory of your father being a stupid row over a girlfriend, who you've now evidentially got over!"

"Is he really bad?"

"He's not good. He's getting better but …"

"OK … so you think I should come?"

"I think you should come."

"OK according to Aurélie by the way, I'm not the only one's who's got married on the sly?"

"What?"

"My brother in law? Patrick Turner?"

"Oh Patrick – no he didn't know how to say that he was your sisters lover in French."

"This is Paris Shelagh, I'm sure there's a word for it."

"I'm sure – so you'll come then?"

"I'll come."

* * *

"Patrick, you're sure you don't mind?" Asked Molly for the fourth time that morning,

"Molly, I've been staying in your house for the past three days rent free, eating your food and stealing your alcohol. The least I can do is drive to the airport to pick up your brother."

"Well thank you." with a brisk hug, Molly turned around into the kitchen as Patrick picked up the hire car keys off the hall table. Shelagh stood in her battered jeans and a thick cardigan next to the front door, she looked exhausted, sleepless nights and long days spent at the hospital had taken their toll.

"Thanks for doing this, it was sweet of you."

"No problem love."

"And, when you meet Mike's wife – eyes on the road eh!"

"Don't worry, she wont be a patch on you."

"Patrick, I look like I had a fight with death on my way through a bush. She is going to look incredible."

"No she wont! Oh who am I kidding, she's a French photographer – she's his muse, she's going to be stunning isn't she!"

"She'll have legs up to here, and a waist the size of a 50pence piece. And I bet she'd never cut herself shaving!"

"You're right, this woman that neither of us has ever met sounds far superior to you, and I'm going to run away with her the second she gets off of the plane! Love, you're daft as a brush sometimes, but if it makes you feel any better, I'll keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the steering wheel OK."

"Am I being stupid?"

"You're being ridiculous – but I still love you. And if it makes you feel better – I promise not to seduce your Sister-in-law!"

"Thank you. Love you."

"You're welcome Love."

* * *

"So Patrice, you are a doctor non?"

"Yes, I'm an obstetrician."

"Pardon?"

"I help women in labour, pregnant women."

"Ahh – obstétricien"

"Probably … and you Aurélie? Your occupation?"

"Photographe, I make the pictures of … I don't know the word … Michel – paysage?"

"Umm Landscape, she does landscape work."

"How interesting … it must be lovely work." Added in Molly, tensely spearing a mouthful of lasagne on her fork,

"Oui, France is very beautiful. La belle vie, non?" this statement was followed by a creeping silence that pervaded the table, Shelagh looked up from her meal and caught Tim's eye, giving him a sly wink. She bent her head back down and smiled inwardly as she caught the look of bemusement on Tim's face. He had been confused from the moment he had caught sight of the beautiful young French woman, she was physically stunning, as Shelagh had feared, but for some other reason she was hard to like. Unable to put her finger on her sister in laws strange unlikeable quality Shelagh tried to shake it off, put it down to jealousy. But there was a definite something, the only specific thing that Shelagh could accurately pin point was Aurélie's strange varying levels of spoken French. She seemed to veer between almost word perfect English, and then switch back to her broken sentences, peppered with French. Gently under the table, Shelagh extended her foot and kicked Patrick gently on the ankle, his eyes flicked quickly up from his bend head, meeting her eyes he gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod before swallowing the last mouthful of food on his plate and with a gracious smile he started to stand.

"That was wonderful, thank you Molly. I'm just going to pop outside … top up my nicotine levels, Love?"

"Mmm?" Replied Shelagh innocently,

"Did you want to join me."

"Oh lovely yes, I will." Having thus far performed textbook RADA nonchalant, the couple tried to continue it by walking out of the dining room slowly and casually – not speeding up their walk until they hit the kitchen, before flinging themselves out into the cold night air.

"Urgh, what the hell is going on?" Shelagh whispered, taking a lit cigarette off of Patrick,

"Christ only knows – have you noticed how, how well she can speak English has changed throughout the evening?"

"Yes! And I was right to be worried about you and her."

"What are you on about, I havn't been near the woman!"

"Not you, her – she's been checking you out all evening. _You are le Doctor non_?"

"… Do you think she was looking at me?"

"Patrick!" Laughed Shelagh tapping the back of her hand against his stomach playfully and taking a drag on her cigarette, "or should I say … _Patrice_!"

"It's growing on my you know, _Patrice, _I may keep it."

"You're growing old a bachelor if you do! What do you think her game is?"

"I think that it's nothing as sinister as you're imagining."

"Oh?"

"I know you – you think this is going to be some dodgy French … thing. I think that she is genuinely French, I think she's a shrewd woman who knows that a being able to speak English is mainstream and dull, and so to maintain her arty bohemian … illusion … she pretends that her French is appalling. I bet if we wait long enough she'll start drinking cognac, smoking Sobranis and quoting Marx at us."

"What makes you so wise?"

"Age – the grey hair brings gravitas."

"Evidentally."

* * *

Patrick sank into the chair beside Michael McDonald the elder's bed side, he had come in to bring Shelagh some lunch, having relieved her so that she could use the toilet and buy herself a coffee for 10 minutes he cast an experienced eye over his father in law and sighed deeply. He turned away from the man and watched the Scottish rain fall hard against the window, the tinny spitting sound as it hit the window and the cracking splashes as it hit the pavement below.

The radio was playing softly in the background of the ward from the nurses station, the presenter was wittering away before the station's annoying jingle rang out and some music started. Giving out a deep sigh Patrick stood up and walked across the bed area to see the photographs blu-tacked to the plastic frame on the wall, there was one of Shelagh, Molly, Mike sat on the sand of a beach, squinting against the sun with the wind whipping up their clothes. The one beside it was of Shelagh in a navy blue dress, partially obscured by her black graduation gown, she was holding the cap in one hand and using the other to brush her hair out of her eyes, her head tilted back slightly as she laughed at someone just off camera. The final one was a polaroid photograph, of a small fair-haired woman lying in a hospital bed, her hair was messed up and streaked with sweat – she looked exhausted, but aside and beneath the tiredness was a look of pure joy, cradled in her arms was a baby, tiny and barely visible beneath the layers of cloth swaddling her. In faded biro under the picture said the words: _Catriona and Shelagh (2 minutes old)._

"Mike?"

Patrick spun on his heels, Michael's eyes were half open, he moved his head slowly and blinked taking in the sight of Patrick,

"No, it's Patrick. Michael – I can't … Shelagh's here, she's just gone for a break. Hang on .. let me just get a doctor!" running out of the bay, Patrick looked left and right before setting his sights on the young fair Dr Fraser who was stood at the nurses station, desperately flicking through some notes. "Doctor! He's waking up – Michael McDonald!"

Returning to the bay, Michael became swathed in a barrage of nurses and Dr Fraser who started tapping the monitors and pulling reams of paper from various machines. Bending down next to Michael Patrick touched his hand briefly, he gave a small smile.

"Shelagh's on her way back now, she's over the moon!"

"Good … have you married her yet?"

"Ha … no no … not yet!"

"You should you know – you're a good man. She deserves you, even if she doesn't know it. You should marry her."

"I would in a heartbeat … if I thought she'd have me."


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18, things are progressing for Turnadette, I wrote this chapter in one night which either reflects it's quality or reflects how much I enjoyed writing this one.**_

_**Some chapters are hard work to write, some (like this one) are great fun - and come easily. Particularly part 2 of this chapter - which I possibly enjoyed writing too too much!**_

_**Thanks for all your amazing reviews, and please do continue. Like I've said before - I write for pleasure and if you guys like what I write then it makes it all worth while!**_

_**This chapter's song is:**_

_**Paolo Nutini: Jenny don't be hasty.**_

_**Enjoy x**_

* * *

_You said you'd marry me if I was 23__, but I'm one that you can't see if I'm only 18. Tell me who made these rules? Obviously not you, who are you answering to? Oh, Jenny don't be hasty, no, don't treat me like a baby. Let me take you where you'll let me, because leaving just upsets me. I'll be around again to see the other men, they're more adequate in the age department. I did not think you cared._

The sun was beating down on the hot May day, a spur of the moment barbeque was planned when he and Shelagh had realised that for the first time since Christmas their off duty perfectly matched and they could spend two whole days together, rather than the odd evening or stranger mornings before one or the other of them had to go on duty. Almost 6 months had passed since they had gone up to Aberdeen together and since Michael had tried to get the couple married off together, he hadn't brought up the issue since Michael seemed to have no recollection of saying anything and Patrick had been the only one to hear the conversation. A long time ago Shelagh had promised to think about marrying Patrick, and to himself he had promised not to push her or ask her again and again. But all the same, he wished that he could pluck up the courage to ask her again, and he wished that this time she would say yes. He drove into the estate and turned down the radio slightly, by now far more used to the Powell estate and they more used to him, he wasn't surprised when a teenage boy, topless with his tracksuit bottoms slung low over his boxers skidded his bike to a stop next to the driver's window.

"Alright mate."

"Hi Damon, you alright?"

"I'm alright mate, d'u hear about me and Chantelle?"

"No – what's up?"

"We're having a baby."

"Blimey, congratulations."

"Thanks mate, yeah we're made up! I just finished my apprenticeship too, so hopefully I'll be working soon. Sunil down the garage reckons he can get me some work like and then me Telle and the baby can settle down properly yeah?"

"Sounds good – seen Shelagh?"

"Yeah mate, she's round the side."

"Thanks Damon."

Taking care not to kill Damon with the car, Patrick pulled out and slowly over took him as the young man turned and sailed under the giant concrete walkway that connected two tower blocks. At the side of Shelagh's particular towerb lock stood a woman in her late 40's, cigarette in one hand, can of cider in the other as she spoke to a man, older and arguably inadvisably sat topless in the sun, beside his white plastic lawn chair sat a faded plastic washing up bowel filled with water and cans of beer and cider. The small stack of empty tins beside him said that he had been there a while, basking in the sun beside the older couple, stood Shelagh, her long fair hair twisted and plaited back off her face and up off of her neck . In her denim thigh skimming shorts and bright green vest her pale skin shone, leaning across the car Patrick called out of the window to get her attention.

"Sorry Patrick, miles away. Talking about football."

"Do you know anything about football?"

"Nope, but I was quite happy to sit in the sun and pretend to care." Beaming, Shelagh pushed her sunglasses onto her head and leant over the gearstick to kiss Patrick on the lips.

"You look lovely."

"Thanks."

"I mean bright – you're in no danger of being hit by a passing jet plane."

"Oh shut your face. Cheeky git – well just in case this is all the summer we get, I thought I ought to flash some flesh while I have the chance."

"You won't hear any complaints from me."

"I see that you didn't take the same decision."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing? Clear on your side?"

"Nope, motorbike. Nothing's wrong with what you're wearing … it's just not very summery. OK – clear now."

"I look like David Cameron when I dress summerly … sumerlily … summerish?"

"In a summery way?"

"That'll have to do. I look like David Cameron when I dress _in a summery way_."

"Mmm – yeah, probably stick to jeans and shirts then. Maybe I should get you a Hawaiian shirt!"

"Maybe you should consider finding yourself a new boyfriend?"

* * *

Patrick paused for a moment in the cool interior of the kitchen as he came out of the sun to get some more ketchup, walking over to the fridge he paused to survey the contents of the shelves, searching for the condiment. He jumped as he felt a hand slide around his back and rest on his stomach, he spun around on his heels to face his assailant.

"Jean! Hello – bit lost are you?" He stared at his neighbour, the unsteady sway of her body gave away how much she had had to drink, he tried to pull her hand away from him, but like a piece of tightened wire her arm sprang back to his hip as she manoeuvred him back against the fridge.

"Not a bit lost – are you?"

"Not exactly but I think that Shelagh might be wanting me outside … and I'm sure your Tony will be missing you too Jean!"

"No he won't, he's happy enough with his _beer_ and his _football _and his … crap. Shhh." She added to no one in particular, before pressing her finger to Patrick's lips and shaking her head distractedly, clearly a mixture of Pimms and the heat had got to her as she started dancing away as she hummed Lucky by Kylie Minogue, which would have been much less peculiar if that song had actually been playing. "You don't need that slip of a girl … all blond and pretty … and funny and slim!"

"Really? Because you're actually making a pretty good case for her right now."

"You need a real woman … should be so lucky, lucky lucky, lucky … a real woman Patrick. I won't tell if you don't tell."

"Tell who what?"

"Tell Tony about you and me … our little secret."

"Oh well I would hope that I wouldn't have anything to tell Tony to be honest. Look Jean … I am really … really flattered but I'm actually really quite happy with Shelagh."

"It's not about that … it's about the … bigger picture! We're two consenting adults … we're not hurting anyone … there's no need to be ashamed."

"Oh I'm not ashamed Jean, I'm also really not interested – generous though your offer has been!"

"Just a little bit of -"

"Umm – can I help in here?" With panic Patrick looked up sharply to see Shelagh in the doorway of the kitchen, an eyebrow raised as she looked between the pair, walking over slowly towards the fridge where Patrick was pushed back against the cold hard metal,

"We … were just having a little … little chat between old friends." slurred Jean.

"Oh that's OK, I thought you were trying to seduce my boyfriend, but if you're not then that's fine! In which case you can take your hands off my man, especially your left hand." The assembled trio glanced down to where Jean's left hand lay on Patrick's body, the hand was duly and swiftly removed as Jean sauntered out of the kitchen with a stage wink at Patrick.

"Love, I swear to you that me and her -"

"Oh really? Because she looks just your type, and you looked like you were having so much fun being manhandled by her just then!"

"Very true, I only let you man-handle me."

"Very wise. You don't know where she's been."

"I can imagine – which to be honest is a good reason to stay clear. How's everyone outside?"

"Pretty self-sufficient, they hadn't noticed you'd gone … and I'm pretty sure that they won't have noticed that I've gone."

"You think so do you?"

"I do. I also think that you need to prove to me that you do actually find me attractive … and that you're not having an affair with Jean."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I can manage that, and to be perfectly honest – you were incredibly sexy when you defended my honour and asked her to un-hand me."

"Well I'll have to defend your honour more often!"

* * *

Stretching out on the grass Shelagh smiled as she basked in the late afternoon sun, as their guests left one by one, leaving her, Patrick and Tim alone in the house. Through her sunglasses she watched the tinted shapes of the pair play a poor game of swing ball, before watching Patrick loose a particularly poor shot, he threw the plastic racquet onto the ground and wandering over to where Shelagh lay. Cackling like a witch Tim gloated over his father's failings at ball games and turned round to drown himself in a glass of squash.

"I bet Andy Murray is quaking in his boots."

"Oh you're very witty, shift over a bit." Settling down besider her on the blanket, Patrick rested sat with his legs resting out on front of him, he kicked off his shoes, exposing his pale feet to the sun.

"You've got really long toes, I've never really looked before."

"They're perfectly normal feet!"

"No, look at your toes, they're like fingers."

"Well that's all that toes are, the fingers of the feet."

"Urgh – what a horrible thought."

"You spend all day looking at women's cervixes and delivering placentas and you find that _disgusting_."

"Well I could say the same for you and raw chicken."

"Revolting stuff."

"It's just chicken!"

"Nope – it's awful!"

"You're not normal are you?"

"Well I fell for you so I can't be can I!"

"Ha ha, deflecting mockery with flattery – very clever Dr Turner … I've been thinking you know."

"Always dangerous."

"Probably."

"… well?"

"Oh, well I was thinking about that night, a few months back."

"Which night?"

"The night when you came round, after the argument."

"Which argument, we've had a few love!"

"_The_ argument. And … and you asked me a question … didn't you?"

"While I was drunk?"

"Yup … that question … I was thinking about it … I was thinking – yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I think yes, yes I will marry you." Pushing herself up to sit against her hand, Shelagh turned slightly to face Patrick, she smiled at him as she watched his face, seeing the whirring of cogs behind his eyes.

He faltered; as one portion of his brain erupted with joy another told him that he was dreaming, he had misunderstood, she was joking. This was some kind of prank, she was teasing him.

"Sorry – can I just double check. You, as in you … Shealgh McDonald, you want to marry me, me Patrick Turner?"

"I want to marry you."

"And this is … this is you being certain. Not you joking or … hypothetical?"

"Right. Just to be clear, I Shealgh Maria McDonlad, honestly, completely, truly and 100% want to marry you, be your wife, be legally tethered to you, Patrick John Turner. Good enough for you?"

"It'll do. You're sure."

"No, I'm not sure at all, that's obviously why I said I'd marry you! Daft beggar!"

You're going to marry me, you're going to be my wife." Standing up quickly, Patrick reached down and pulled Shelagh up to standing, he wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her towards him. "That's twice in my life the woman of my dreams has agreed to marry me."

"Well, let's do our best to not bring that figure up to three eh?"

"Agreed." Leaning forward and up Shelagh reached up to kiss Patrick on the lips, after a moment she broke away and smiled broadly,

"Urgh, can you two get a room!?" called Tim from across the garden,

"Shelagh and me are getting married!"

"Wow – cool!"

"Blimey, you should get a job with Clintons, you could do an excellent range of cards." replied Patrick, sliding his hand down to hold onto his fiancé's own.

"You should be careful, I know get to control your birthday and Christmas presents."

"Oh, congratulations! I'm made up for you!"

"Better – much better!"

"Say what you like about my boy, he's got his priorities right!"


	19. Chapter 19

**_First off – a massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed the last chapter. I check my emails on my dinner break at 3am on my night shifts, and every single one makes me so so happy! I'm back on days now so with any luck your updates will be a little more frequent because my body clock won't be quite so fried!_**

**_This chapter's song is:_**

**_Lana Del Ray – Young and Beautiful_**

**_Enjoy! x_**

* * *

"Oh my God – Congratulations!" Jenny threw her arms around Shelagh and embraced her tightly, pulling away slightly she beamed, her joy showing through every pore in her skin. "Is there a ring, lets have a look!"

"I can't wear it for work, it's at home."

"Oh that's no fun! Text me a picture of it tonight yeah – I want to see the rock!"

"You might be a little disappointed, it's only small – I didn't want anything big."

"Shealgh, it's your engagement ring, it's meant to be traffic stopping!"

"For you maybe, for me anything would have been perfect!"

"What's all this noise?" Asked John, poking his head out of the staff room door, Fred the porter's head appearing beside his. Shelagh smiled ruefully,

"Patrick and me … we're umm … engaged!"

"Oh Shelagh darling, that's excellent news. Oh I'm so happy for you I really am!" cried John, emerging fully from the staff room, rushing over to Shelagh he drew her up into a rib crushing hug. "Oh – Dr Turner is a lucky lucky bloke. What do you think Fred?" He asked, turning toward the porter, who bent his knees slightly and sucked his teeth, like a plumber assessing a particularly expensive burst pipe.

"I think it's bloody good news, and that it won't be long before we've got a little Dr Turner running about the place – which sounds like a very good basis on which to run a book! Any offers?" He asked, pulling a small notebook from his shirt pocket. Jenny darted forward, and laid a hand on Freds forearm.

"18 months – hang on is this to give birth or get pregnant?"

"Give birth."

"18 months then I say."

"I give it a year. Oh and Fred, havn't I just had a little windfall on your last book?" Added in John, leaving Shelagh's side for a moment as Fred spooled through his little notebook.

"What was your last book on Fred, why didn't you ask me!?" Asked Shelagh,

"It was about you!" replied the trio in unison distractedly as they returned their attentions back to the notebook.

"Ahh yes look, I said that they would get engaged within six months of January, there – I'm closer than any of the others!"

"No no you're not, it's May – the fifth month, which is exactly what Sister Evangalina said."

"Hang on!" Cried Shelagh, crossing over to examine the notebook, "You're saying that: a – you're running a book on my love life, and Sister _Evangalina_ is involved?!"

"Oh yeah – she's been quite the fan of yours and the docs … hey, you don't mind me running the book do you Shelagh? I didn't want to offend you."

"Well you could of asked! … I want in! Two years and I'll give birth."

"Blimey, you havn't got much confidence in the poor bloke have you."

"Oh sorry Fred, I didn't realised that we were in 1957 – a little of the control actually rests in my hands nowadays."

"That's my problem with female led contraception, puts my books right out of whack!"

* * *

**_Cohen Family Jewellers  
Canon St Road, E1  
Est. 1903_**

_18c WG En-ring_

_1 RS diamond 1/3 C_

_£1200_

Stood outside the back door, Patrick smoothed out the receipt with its hand written scrawl of the jeweller from his jacket pocket, and held the tip of his cigarette up against the paper until it caught light, waiting for the flames to take hold her dropped it into the open drain of the guttering. He didn't want Shelagh to find it, she had been desperately insistent, first that she didn't need an engagement ring, and once he had talked her out of that she became insistent that the ring had to be small, and unassuming. He had conceded and bought her a simple ring with a single stone, but he still felt that she shouldn't know how much it had cost.

When she had offered to come with him to help pick it out he had flat out refused, she had accused him of being old fashioned and pointed out that up-until now their relationship had been decidedly un-traditional. But he had still refused, and once he had the ring in his possession he had decided to re-propose, down on one knee, unfortunately she had at the time been cooking some pasta and Tim was in the other room shouting at the football – somewhat spoiling the moment. But she had laughed and told him that big gestures and classic romance were over rated.

_"You're not James Stewart, I'm not Donna Reed and this isn't: It's a wonderful life!"_

She had told him sternly, before standing him up to give him a kiss. The feeling of electricity as her lips had touched his, knowing that soon, she would be his wife made Patrick's heart skip and fill up with warmth, a warmth that, like a glass of good whiskey extended through his body and made him want to sing.

It had been a long time since he had asked Clair to marry him, that had been different, she had said yes straight away, he had already had the ring, his hair wasn't greying and she wasn't almost 20 years younger than him. Although, he reflected, that didn't make him any less certain, he couldn't be more sure that he had made the right decision in proposing to Shelagh. He could only hope that she felt the same way on accepting him.

"Dad?" Throwing his cigarette butt into the gutter, Patrick turned to face his son.

"Tim, what are you doing still up?"

"Just thinking …"

"I've been wanting to talk to you actually, about me and Shelagh. I wanted … well I thought that actually I hadn't really asked your opinion much about the whole thing. I mean you are alright with all of this aren't you? You know that Shelagh isn't trying to … or going to … and nor do I want her to -"

"Dad, if you're going to say that Shelagh isn't going to replace Mum then you don't have to. Shelagh's great, she's not Mum, because she's … well she's just not. And I don't think she wants to be either. Shelagh's really nice, and I like her – I really like her, and you obviously … like love her and stuff. And if it makes you happy then that's cool, and she makes me happy because she' s you know … nice and stuff. And I still love Mum, and remember her … but like … she's not going to disappear just because Shelagh and you are getting married. It's … you know … just like a new chapter or something. So it's cool Dad, it's cool – I'm happy for you."

"When did you get so grown up? I remember when I could hold you with one hand … and now here you are, giving me life tips."

"Yeah alright Dad, don't get all emotional – just because you've fallen in love!"

* * *

*Crazy night, going back to the flat now – am ringing Dad and Molly when I get home. S x*

*Break the news gently, don't want your Dad having another heart attack haha P x*

*INSENSETIVE! S x*

*You're marrying a cruel cruel man Px*

*Clearly I've made a big mistake, calling off the wedding now. Never liked you anyway – am running off with Ewan McGregor! S x*

*Heartless! Although handy, I'm eloping with Bridget Bardot so was breaking up with you anyway! Px*

*Isn't she dead? Sx*

*NO! Alive but ancient – just like me ha Px*

*You're not ancient … Just old! You could be her toy boy! Sxx*

*Hahahaha – got that's depressing, I'd have to run off with a woman in her 70's to be a toyboy! Px*

*Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha – aww, I feel guilty – still love you! Sx*

*Good – on an unrelated note, I think we ought to get one of those walk in baths for me. Px*

*Sod off - Look at Rod Stewart! Sx*

*I'd rather not! Px*

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi Dad, it's me."

"Morning – how's things in the big city?"

"Big and cityish, much the same."

"Odd time for you to be ringing, not that it's not great!"

"Yeah sorry Dad, I just came off a night shift. I just needed to speak to you …"

"Right …"

"Yeah …"

"So did you want to talk then?"

"Right yeah, so the thing is, Patrick's proposed to me and I've accepted. We're getting married."

"Right … well that's fantastic, I've was telling him to propose 6 months ago, don't know what took him so long to be honest."

"He proposed almost a year ago – It's just I've only just accepted."

"What!? When did I bring you up to be such a tease!"

"Dad! I'm not a tease, I said yes – It just took me a while …"

"Well at least you said yes in the end, I think you've made a good decision Shelagh. He's a good man."

"Yeah he is isn't he … he is!"

* * *

"You've never seen any Indiana Jones films?! How is that even possible? What do you do at Christmas?"

"Clearly the Turner family has been doing Christmas all wrong!"

"Clearly."

"So – he's an archaeologist?"

"He's an archaeologist who does … adventurey stuff too! You should probably watch them in order really."

"There's more than one?"

"There's three of the real ones, I think they did a new one a few years back but I'm not convinced. There's _Raiders of the Lost Ark,_ then there's _The Temple of Doom,_ and then _The Last Crusade_.But since it's the third one that's on tonight, I suppose you'll have to watch them out of order!"

"Damn ITV! Which one is it on?"

"ITV2 I think … have a look … yeah, there – it's still on the adverts so if you want to go to the toilet then go now, I'm not having you disturbing Harrison Ford with your bladder."

"Perils of dating an old man!"

"It's alright, I'm going to have you catheterised once you reach the point of no return."

"You know Shelagh, I don't think you realise what a catch I am! I'm house trained by a previous wife, I'm in a fairly well paid job, and because of my job I work ridiculous hours and am therefore rarely home. There are women out there who would give their hind teeth to end up with me!"

"Not many women who could put up with you mind."

"You think? Shall we test your theory?"

"Umm … maybe not, wouldn't want to risk it. Go on, go to the loo before the film starts."

As Patrick stood up to leave Shelagh smiled at his retreating form and curled her legs up underneath her self, taking the tele off of mute she watched the _Coming soon_ trailer for all the re-runs ITV were planning.

_Hot summer nights, mid July, when you and I were forever wild. The crazy days, city lights, the way you'd play with me like a child. Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I've got nothing but my aching soul?  
I know you will, I know you will. I know that you will. Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?_

She smiled at the trailer, she was not a soft girl, she wasn't the type to talk about films or songs speaking to her and reading her soul or the other kind of stuff that she heard women in their mid-twenties having quarter life crises talking about. But hearing that song play over a hash together of clips from Downton Abbey series 1, she felt as if, just for a moment she understood and agreed with all their hot air and sentimentality.

"Did I miss anything?" Asked Patrick, returning to the living room and pulling down his jumper over the top of his trouser,

"I think I know what I want our first dance to be …"

"Is it Agadoo? Because that is the only dance that I will do in public."

"It's a slow one – and I'll get you ruined on Asti before we get to the first dance so don't worry." With a grin, Shelagh reached up and lacing her fingers through Patricks she sat him down next to her on the sofa,

"You're not usually this … sentimental."

"It's you, you make me happy, and apparently when I'm happy I become dead soppy." Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, she curled up into his side, pushing her arm around his torso and tucking her hand down between his hip and the arm of the seat. "And if you want, we can get them to play Agadoo too."

"Can we have the Conga too?"

"Obviously, it's not a wedding without the conga!"


	20. Chapter 20

_**Evening all,**_

_**Sorry for the delay in this update, but here we are – at last – updated (although it's a tiny short one so sorry about that!)**_  
_** This chapter's fairly low on major developments, but I wanted to tidy up one or two loose ends before the proper wedding prep starts in the next chapter.**_

_**Thanks for all the fab reviews, every one of them makes me very happy so thanks, and if you want to continue, please do!**_

_**This chapters songs are:**_

_**Billy Idol – White Wedding**_  
_** The Beatles - Keep your hands off my baby**_

* * *

_Hey little sister what have you done?__ Hey little sister who's the only one? Hey little sister who's your superman? Hey little sister who's the one you want? Hey little sister shot gun! It's a nice day to start again. It's a nice day for a white wedding. It's a nice day to start again. Hey little sister who is it you're with? Hey little sister what's your vice and wish? Hey little sister shot gun …_

Coming to a sweaty and panting stop Shelagh rested her palms against her running trousers, lifting her body upright she filled her lungs up and exhaled deeply raising her head to look up towards the sky. After a second she started off again, letting her Ipod play out the song.

_… It's a nice day for a white wedding__, it's a nice day to start again. There is nothin' fair in this world, there is nothin' safe in this world and there's nothin' sure in this world and there's nothin' pure in this world. Look for something left in this world, start again._

Approaching the end of the park, she slowed down as she walked over towards her bike, lifting up her top she reached into her belt and picked out her lock keys and phone to switch off her running tracker. There was one missed call and two texts, the screen read:

One missed call  
Patrick T  
09:33

scrolling down she read the texts.

*Guess you're still out? T's out with his mates, fancy a coffee? P x*

*We need to do wedding shopping! Are you buying the dress in London or Aberdeen – you'll pick something boring, so I am taking charge and making sure you look stunning, text me – Molls xxx*

With a smile Shelgah checked her watch, 9:48, rattling off a quick text to Patrick, offering to meet him in a café around two miles away, she started to ring Molly.

"Morning Shelagh."

"Hi Molls, for the record – I would not pick something ugly or boring!"

"Och you would, you'd wear something off the rails at TK Max if I gave you the chance."

"Perhaps, but you know me, I don't like being all … gitzy and showy!"

"I didn't say that it had to be all sequins and 20ft trains did I? I just think that as your sister it's my duty to make you look … bridal … as opposed to lovely if un bridal."

"Oh God forbid I look unbridal!"

"Well exactly! So, where do you want to buy your dress?"

"Well since we're getting married in London, it makes sense to buy the dress here I guess!"

"I suppose, well I'll check my diary and I'll have to come down and take you out dress shopping! I'm too excited Shelagh, this is such amazing news!"

"Yeah, it's going to be brilliant! I'm … I'm just really happy! Look – I've got to go, I've just finished my run, I'm cycling off to meet Patrick for a coffee."

"Urgh, why are you so healthy? Wait till you have bairns, you wont be all toned and sleek!"

"Oh Shh your self, you look fine, you always do! But I do have to go now."

"Alright, well give Patrick my love, and I'll see you soon!"

"Bye!"

"Bye bye." Hanging up, Shelagh pushed her mobile back into belt and mounted her bike, plugging her ipod back in she set off for the couple of miles towards the café. The journey was going to be quiet, even the main road next to the park was quiet given that it was ten to ten on a Tuesday morning. Pedalling off the pavement she was suddenly flagged down by a tall broad black man, his ill-fitting suit rucked at the elbows and shoulders but he beamed a broad smile at her. It took her a second for her brain to click into place over who he was.

"Shelagh hi!"

"Hi … uh … Martin?"

"Mark!"

"Sorry, Mark! Terrible with names, you're Simon's Dad aren't you?"

"That's it, I was trying to catch up with you but you were jogging."

"Yes … yes I was, I run … did you want anything?"

"… oh umm … no no … I was just trying to you know … catch up with you … say hello!"

"Hello … so you're alright?"

"Yeah great thanks! You and old Patrick still going strong?"

"Umm yeah, yeah we're getting married actually in the new year."

"Yeah Tim said! So that's still all … on?"

"… yeah … yeah still in love and … and all that. I was just out for a jog and now I'm off for a coffee with Patrick so …"

"Oh wow you jog here?"

"Uh yeah most mornings, just 3 or 4 miles round the park you know."

"Does Patrick come too?"

"Patrick?! Lord no, he's at home eating bacon and listening to radio 4 I imagine!"

"Oh wow yeah, because I jog here most mornings too."

"Really? I've never seen you?"

"Yeah … well I mean I mostly come in the evenings … not … so much the mornings …"

"But you just said that … oh never mind, I need to get going. Bye Mark."

"Bye Shelagh, and if you ever need anyone to talk to about … or just to go for a drink you know…"

"I'll bear it in mind! Bye now!" Martin seemed reluctant to move, meaning that Shelagh had to jump the curb to get around him, with a small non-committal wave Shelagh made a last ditch attempt to get away from the park. Cycling towards the T-junction, and pausing at the lights she risked a cursory glance behind her to see where the somewhat over keen Mark had got to. She caught sight of him, watching her from the pavement, catching her eye he tried again for a violently cheerful wave.

* * *

"Morning love, you look beautifully sweaty. How was your run?"

"Well …" Flopping down opposite Patrick, Shelagh leant across the table for a brief kiss before settling back down on her seat. "I just bumped into every one's favourite creep bag!"

"Oh God – you don't mean Mark Williams?!"

"I wish I bloody didn't! He was in the park … he was all like _' oooh – I jog here, we should go for a drink.'_ all that kind of crap and rubbish."

"Oh God, maybe we should emigrate, how does Outer Mongolia sound to you?"

"Perfect! What are you drinking?"

"I'll just have a coffee thanks love."

"I imagine that could be managed, do you want anything to eat?"

"No no I'm fine thanks. Hey look, do you want me to talk to Mark?"

"Do you want to? I mean he's a bit of a creep but he's not really doing any harm and I don't think he_ means_ any harm …"

"Yeah but – do you _want_ me to?"

"Umm … Yeah maybe you should."

"Ok I will – I'm taking Tim to Cubs tonight so I might see Mark there …"

"I probably wont attend to be honest."

"No, you'd be distracting both of us."

"I look disgusting and yet you still find me attractive? You're either desperate or terribly in love."

"Hmm well I know I'm not desperate, so I suppose that means that I'm really in love with you!"

"Well, that's fortunate!"

* * *

_We've been friends for, oh, so long__, I let you share what's mine. When you mess with the girl I love, it's time to draw the line. Keep your hands off my baby, ain't a-gonna tell you, but a one more time. So keep your hands off my baby. Boy, you get it through your head, that girl is mine._

Tapping his foot against the edge of the car, Patrick spied Mark across the car-park of the scout hut. He ground his cigarette under his shoe and stood up, the radio continued to play out as he wandered the 10 feet to the only other car there. It took Mark a moment to notice the doctor stood beside the car,

"Hi Patrick … you're not usually this early."

"No, I got off work early and Shelagh's cooking tea for me and the boy."

"So things are good between you two then …?"

"Never better. Shelagh said you two met at the park today."

"She told you that?"

"Why wouldn't she? She's my fiancé – you're the Dad of her step son's friend. So … why wouldn't she tell me that you apparently run at the same park and that you offered her a drink if she '_ever needed someone to talk to'" _cocking an eyebrow Patrick watched the response on the face of Mark. The man had gone quiet, he ran a finger along the top edge of his steering wheel before inhaling and turning towards Patrick.

"You know … I mean you know I never would have -"

"Yeah I know you wouldn't, I just wanted to make sure that we were reading off the same hymn sheet, and I never want Shelagh to feel uncomfortable when spending time with either my friends or my boy's friends."

* * *

*Just spoke to Mark, he will NOT be bothering you again! P X*

*Well that just sounds like you've had him killed! Sx*

*He is alive. But a little sheepish and embarrassed so next parents evening might be a little awkward! P x*

*I look forward to that! Just spoke to Molls, she's coming down in a fortnight to do wedding dress shopping! Girlyest weekend EVER. Sx*

*I am fully expecting a massive one, with crystals and glitter and stuff!*

*You're in luck, I won't be able to get down the aisle it's going to be so big. Might even get a massive train for you to step on all through the first dance. Sx*

*I wont be dancing! Pxx*

*Yeah you are. S x*

*I just defended your honour – I deserve a reward for that surely P x*

*You get your reward later … Sx*

*Do I? Pxx*

*Shealgh? Do I?! Px*

*Shelagh! Answer me – I'm stuck in traffic – you're killing me here! Pxxx*


	21. Chapter 21

**_Evenings greetings to all my readers,_**

**_here's a much better, lengthier and more plot moving alonger chapter for you all! It contains wedding prep but very little Turnadette action alas, I'm going to have the wedding chapter as either 23 or 24, depending on how 22 pans out!_**

**_I would like to say that this chapter has a few notes on the Catholic church, I did not write it as an anti-Catholic diatribe or anything! And I sincerely apologise to anyone I offend, it wasn't meant to be offensive but just the thoughts of a particular character!_**

**_I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I liked writing it and I have mental images of how Shelagh's wedding dress is going to look, but just like Patrick you're just going to have to wait until the big day to find out about it._**

**_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, you're all brilliant and I love to hear what you guys think - because that's why I write! So please do continue if you want!_**

**_Enjoy xx_**

**_This chapter's song is:_**

**_The Kooks – She moves in her own way_**

* * *

_So at my show on Monday__ I was told that someday you'd be on your way to better things. It's not about your make-up, or how you try to shape up to these tiresome paper dreams. Paper dreams honey. So now you pour your heart out, you're telling me you're far out you're all about to lie down for your cause. But you don't pull my strings, cause I'm a better man. Moving on to better things. But uh oh, I love her because she moves in her own way, but uh oh, she came to my show just to hear about my day …_

"Will you get a move on!"

"I am I am – I just need to find some shoes!"

"There's a pair here!"

"Which ones?"

"Uhh … they're green pumps?"

"Urgh they'll have to do … have you seen my keys?"

"They're in my hand! Come on Shelagh, we've got an appointment to keep!"

"Molly, it's 20 minutes away and since I'm the bride they're not exactly going to turn me away are they!"

"Urgh – you are IMPOSSIBLE!"

"OK – I'm ready, lets go." Grabbing her jacket off of the back of the sofa and switching off the radio as she ran through the flat. Shealgh paused at the front door and threw her sister a smile. "Thanks for this Molly, you're a star."

"No I'm not, I'm just a nice patient sister – now come along!"

* * *

Shelagh ran a hand along the rail of dresses and cocking her head to one side, she cast an eye across the sea of white. Pulling off her glasses she turned to the highly efficient blond sales assistant who was perched gently on the arm of the sofa with a patient and interested look permanently etched on her features.

"I'm after something … simple …"

"Simple's possible. Were you thinking of white or ivory?"

"I'm not sure … I just don't want a meringue or glitter or sequins or frills!"

"OK so no meringues, no glitter, no sequins and no frills. Well I imagine we could manage that. What about length?"

"Umm, I'm not sure, I mean I don't want a big train or anything … Molls?"

"Well could you have a proper long one without a train?" Replied Molly, casting an eye around the room,

"If you don't mind?" added in the sales assistant with a smile. "I would suggest a shorter style, perhaps a skirt that comes to just below the knee? Think … Audrey Hepburn! I think it would eventuate your legs since you're a little … uhh ..."

"Short? It's fine, you can call me short! So you think something shorter?"

"I think you should try some dresses on and see what you think!"

* * *

*Me and T are just going to go and sort out suits and then shall we meet at the church? Px*

*Sounds good – me and Molls are still going strong with the wedding dress shop S x*

*Rather you than me! Px*

"Right." Said Patrick pocketing his mobile, looking up he watched his 12 year old son stand awkwardly in his black suit in the middle of the room, while a pair of men critically watched the boy, "Uhh – what do you think son? It's a bit …"

"Black?" replied his son scornfully.

"Well funereal perhaps! I mean I like black suits but Tim just looks like he's … well he's at a wake. Shall we try the grey suit?"

"Did you want that as the three piece?"

"I think we should yes …"

"And for you Sir, you'll be in the grey too of course."

"Uhh … of course!"

"The slim fit is very fashionable at the moment, with a single breasted jacket."

"Right well – I guess you're the experts!"

"We like to think so sir, and for your ties?"

"I think … I think that I am a terrible judge of ties as my girlfriend will attest and that I'll leave that particular decision up to you!"

"Why don't you ask your fiancé yourself? And we'll go and find a suit in your size sir."

*TIES! COLOUR? HELP! Px*

*Pastels would be a good choice I think! Sxxx*

"Sir?"

"Uhh – the lady says pastels so … it'll be pastels I guess!"

* * *

Patrick was taking the last drag on his cigarette as Shelagh cycled up along the road, she gave him a quick wave as she checked the traffic and jumped the curb to lock her bike to the church railings. Having struggled with the padlock she swung her bag onto her back and stepped over towards Patrick, she swung her hands around his neck and leant up to kiss him with a wide grin.

"You look very cheerful love?"

"Well I've picked my dress and I love it, and I'm marrying you and I've got a georgous son in law and it's only 5 weeks until the new series of Downton Abbey – I'm in a good mood! How was your suit shopping?"

"Alright I think, I mean the suits are ordered and that's really all we could ask for! Ready?"

"Yeah, you alright Tim?"

"Yeah thanks Shelagh, how was your dress shopping?"

"Good, secretive but good! Shall we go in?"

"Let go." Said Shelagh, slipping her hand into Patrick's and the three walked towards the church doors, half open and pinned with a sign that warned thieves against stealing. Inside the cool church there was a familiar smell of wood polish, dust and books frequently opened and replaced. While neither were particularly religious both had been raised in their respective faiths, with his family being originally from Ireland and being raised Catholic, Patrick had never particularly enjoyed religion his primary memories of it were being a small boy in Blackpool being made to repent for sins that he wasn't sure that he had committed by their elderly priest who although he had presumably had the best intentions, the image of whom still made Patrick feel inherently guilty. He hadn't set foot in any kind of religious building since Clair's funeral but, for Shelagh it was important and that was something that he had to do.

The vicar, an man in his late 50's, was sat on the edge of pew talking briskly into his mobile phone, catching sight off the family he raised hand and nodded towards the other side of the church with a look of apology on his face as he mouthed _builders_ at them and rolled his eyes. Sitting themselves down onto the free pews they looked around the chapel, it was different from the Catholic coliseum that Patrick had attended as a boy, and a little less scary, his breaths came a little easier. He turned to face Shelagh beside him and gave her a smile, reaching beside him for her hand, he gave it a tight squeeze.

"I am so so sorry!" Said the vicar, pocketing his mobile and walking over to the trio with a smile, "I'm trying to get the church roof repaired and it's proving a little tricky. I don't suppose you know anything about 18th century gabled roofs do you?"

"I can't say that it's really my area of expertise, I'm afraid!" replied Patrick.

"No, nor is it any one else in the East London area it would appear! Excuse me, I'm the Reverend David Morris, I'll assume that you are Miss McDonald, we spoke on the telephone?"

"Yes we did, how do you do, Shelagh please. This is my boyfriend Patrick."

"Of course, Dr Turner, you were indeed mentioned."

"I imagine I was, uh … please I'm Dr Turner in work, Patrick. And this here's my boy Tim!"

"Tim, how do you do, it is a pleasure!"

"Hi …"

"… He's a … uh … man of few words." Added Patrick with a smile, giving his son a reproachful look,

"Well, having spoken with Shelagh, I know that she is christened, and I believe that you yourself were christened into the Catholic church? Not that it matters much these days, back when I was fresh out of theological college we were much more strict!"

"Is it going to be an issue?" asked Patrick.

"No! Lord no, in my opinion marriage is about two people who love one another and want to support one another for the rest of their lives, making the ultimate commitment to each other in front of their friends and family. If we start saying that everyone married must be church of England, then we invalidate any couple who are Sikh or Muslim or Jewish or Athiests. As a man of God, I believe that as long as two people marry for the right reasons … then who am I to judge in which faith, if any at all, they choose to do it. Now – let's get down to the nitty gritty shall we!? In terms of legality, I'll assume, but obviously still have to check. that neither of you has any reason why can't legally marry? No wives or husbands, You're not related?"

"No … no as far as we know we're not related! I've had a Scottish registrar's certificate thingy sent down, you know to say that there's no impediment. And, my passport's here somewhere."

"Excellent, excellent …" Murmered the vicar, scanning the document. "And you Patrick?"

"I have my certificate of no impediment, and my passport … and my wife's death certificate …"

"Ahh, I am sorry, I didn't know."

"It's quite alright. Here it is."

"Thank you … a marriage is a trying thing for anyone, any couple to go through. Even more so where there is a bereavement on one side, my chapel, and myself are always here for either quiet reflection or for … a chat you know."

"Thank you Vicar, thank you but … this marriage isn't about Clair. It's about Tim and me and Shelagh being a family. Clair was a massive part of our lives, mine and Tim's, and I wouldn't swop all of that for the world, but I'm marrying Shelagh because I love her, and for some reason she'll have me. I'm not marrying her because I lost Clair, I'm marrying her _and_ I lost Clair."

"A commendable attitude Dr Turner, I'll assume that you feel equally strongly Miss McDonald?"

"I do, I … I never thought that I'd meet anyone like Patrick, and I certainly never thought I'd be lucky enough to have a man like that want me. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. I mean I'm sure that you must meet couples that say that all the time … but I know that when I'm happy I want to share it with Patrick, when I'm hurt or sad I want him there, when I'm furious and want to have him assassinated by KGB spies … I'm still scared of losing him because … I wouldn't know what I would be doing now if I didn't have my two boys… so yeah."

"Well, I'm convinced. Tim? Any thoughts?"

"I dunno … umm … no I mean like it's good and stuff. Shelagh's nice, she's one of the nicest people I've ever met … like and she like puts up with Dad and me, and she makes dead nice toast and stuff so I guess it's good. I mean it's really good … yeah."

"Lovely, absolutely lovely. Well I see no problems here, obviously the banns will have to be read, and we'll put you in the wedding book, so that any … uh … objections, can be brought up before the ceremony. Now, any thought about dates?"


	22. Chapter 22

**_This is a bit of a weird chapter, it's a two parter … in the same chapter … and the two parts in the one chapter occur simultaneously! Confused? It will make sense as we go along … I hope._**

**_Just as a quick warning, this chapter (un-usually for me!) contains no dialogue. It's just Patrick and Shelagh alone with their thoughts on the night before their wedding. I hope that that doesn't a) annoy, or b) put any one off, I really like this chapter. It was great to write and I feel like it was an important chapter to have included because for all the jokes and sarcasm, they're a real(fictional), 20th century couple, and they're going to have patches of time when they have very real emotions and they don't convey that to one another._**

**_Thanks for all reviews so far, you're all amazing individuals and it means so much to me that you take the time to review my little fic! So thank you, truly and sincerely – and if you're still enjoying my story then please do continue. I love to hear what you all think and it means so much to me to know what you all think._**

**_Further A/N – I wrote the word "weevil" down in part one, as the chapter progressed I became less and less convinced that "weevils" are real insects, I now get the feeling that it may have been one of the aliens from Torchwood … but meh – either way lets go with that particular late night potential typo and pretend that it's an insect!_**

**_Further Further A/N – For those of you who either don't listen to BCC Radio 4 late at night, or are from overseas and don't listen to the BBC world service then. The doubtless slightly confusing bit of text at the beginning is the Shipping Forecast, broadcast at 00:45 after the hypnotic Sailing By is played, before the BBC World Service kicks in to be played across the globe. For insomniacs, night shift workers or for those with small babies it is a stalwart of late night BBC radio._******

* * *

_"And now the shipping forecast issued by the Met Office, on behalf of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency, on Friday 27th September 2013._

_Viking: __Variable 3 or 4 becoming northwesterly 4 or 5, increasing 6 later in east. Slight or moderate. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. North Utsire: Variable 3 or 4, becoming northwesterly 5 to 7 later. Slight becoming moderate, then becoming rough later in north. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. South Utsire: Westerly or northwesterly 4 or 5, occasionally 6 later. Slight or moderate. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. Forties, Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger, Fisher, German Bight, Humber: Westerly veering northwesterly 4 or 5, occasionally 6 except in north Forties. Slight or moderate. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. Thames, Dover: West or southwest 4 or 5, occasionally 6 later. Slight or moderate. Showers. Good. Wight, Portland, Plymouth: West or northwest 4 or 5, occasionally 6 later in Wight. Slight or moderate. Mainly fair. Good …"_

Shealgh rolled over in her bed and laid a hand against the cool exposed cotton of her bed linen, in the past week they had moved all of her things out of her flat and into Patrick's house, there had been much umming and ahhing about when she should give her flat back to the council, but they had both agreed that she should spend her last night as Miss McDonald at the flat, it was only right. All that remained was her bed which was being taken by Damon and Chantelle in a few days time, who had managed to get a flat together for them and the baby, and Bernadette who had been highly confused by moving and had now taken up residence at the foot of Shelagh's bed, her beady eyes watching to make sure that Shelagh didn't pack up and leave her in the middle of the night. Shealgh's eyes watched the electronic numbers of her radio alarm clock tick over and she blinked slowly, willing sleep to come, she was exhausted but inside her stomach a weevil seemed to be burrowing around. She sat up and switched off the radio after a moment's thought, she didn't think that the world service was what she needed at this precise moment in time. Looking about her bare and abandoned bedroom she reached down to stroke Bernadette who turned, purred and stood up slowly to make her way carefully over the duvet to push her head against Shelagh's chest, rubbing her ears along the strap of Shealgh's vest her purrs got louder.

Sighing Shelagh moved the cat gently off of her lap, and go out of the bed, pulling her thick cardigan off the floor she put it on and made her way into her now empty kitchen, she wanted a cup of tea but,

"Of course …" she murmured, the kettle had been packed up and sent away, along with everything else except her and Bernadette. Hanging off the coving in her living room was the white plastic floor length cover that hid her wedding dress, two boxes next to the dress, pushed against the skirting board held her shoes and the veil. Squatting down Shelagh ran a finger along the edge of the top box, deciding against opening it she meandered back to the kitchen. No cups, tea bags, no milk, no kettle. Switching on the cold tap she bent over and hung her head down and drank straight from the running stream, after a moment she stood up and ran her hand over her lips to wipe off the excess water.

Her ruc-sack lay on the sofa, an ancient sofa that the council had given to her when she had first moved in but one that held a lot of memories. Walking over she lifted up her bag and sat herself down slowly, looking around the flat. She remembered when she and Gladys Pugh, her late neighbour had baked the colossal cake for her granddaughter Paige when she had got into university. When she had spent a long, wine soaked night with Karen planning how they were going to leave nursing and become world famous dancers after a particularly heavy dance session in one of London's seedier clubs. The night she had come home from work on a rainy night to find she had left the window open and had spent much of the rest of the evening with a hairdryer trying to rescue the room. Patrick described their relationship as a new chapter, not the end of anything, nor the start of anything – merely the continuation of their own stories, in a new age.

Digging into her bag she found her mobile and started flicking through randomly, Facebook yielded nothing of any consequence, a few notifications showed her a couple of friends sending out _Good Luck for tomorrow _posts. Twitter was similarly disappointing, at 1am the only people tweeting were either Americans or tired comedians on their way home from gigs. Turning back to her camera album she flicked through distractedly, pictures of Tim in his end of term music revue, pictures of Patrick cooking at the summer barbeque, Patrick and her sat in a restaurant on their anniversary in a picture taken by Tim. And then, her thumb paused as she stopped at a particular picture, taken back when her and Patrick were first officially a couple. She had gone around to Patrick's before he and Tim went out to a family meal for someone or others birthday, she forgot who. She had taken a picture of them as a joke, saying that she wanted to remember them both looking so smart for once, they were standing in their living room beside the mantel piece, on which sat a photograph. A photograph she had passed a thousand times, seen a thousand times and for a thousand times it had never bothered her. It was a picture Clare Turner, sat in a hospital bed, with a tiny baby Tim curled up to her chest, while Patrick perched on the edge of the bed, gazing down at his tiny new born son, his hand outstretched to touch Tim's exposed hand.

Patrick had a past, and that didn't bother her, why would it? It wasn't as though he had some dark and mysterious past that involved hoards of mistresses, or bitter ex-wives for whom she would always be the other woman. He had simply lost his wife. Why should that bother her, and did it bother her? Why was she marrying him, she knew why she was with him, she knew that she loved him and loved being with him and Tim. But was it really the right thing to be marrying him. Clare had been his wife, should that be a title that she, and only she retained. Shelagh was happy being Patrick's girlfriend, did she truly need a legal tie with him, was it right for her to try and claim Clare's place as Patrick's wife? Picking up her mobile off of her lap she tapped Patrick's name and started to type.

*We need to talk, I'm not sure that this is the right decision. I love you so much – I'm not sure if being your wife is the right path to take. It's not that I don't want to be with you … but should I really be the new Mrs Turner? I love you so much. S Xx*

Her thumb hovered over the send button, what should she do? Reaching down into her ruc-sack wandering if … and it was, a 2/3 smoked packet of Pall Mall, left over from her hen night 3 days back, seven had been got through during the night, leaving her, in her hour of need with three to see her through till dawn. She wandered over to the window and pushed it as wide open as it would go, leaning her stomach against the cool plaster of the wall beneath she lit the cigarette and placed her mobile on the window sill, the un-sent text remaining on the screen. She scanned the estate, silent and cold, illuminated by the orange glow of street lights, with only the distant hum and buzz of the late night traffic and over the London skyline the first tiny pinkish glow from the sun was ebbing its way across the pitch black night sky. Taking the last drag of the cigarette Shelagh McDonald threw the filter out of the window and watched the red fade away into the black towards the concrete. Picking up her mobile again, she read and re-read the text, trying desperately to know what to do.

* * *

_"And now the shipping forecast issued by the Met Office, on behalf of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency, on Friday 27th September 2013._

_Viking: __Variable 3 or 4 becoming northwesterly 4 or 5, increasing 6 later in east. Slight or moderate. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. North Utsire: Variable 3 or 4, becoming northwesterly 5 to 7 later. Slight becoming moderate, then becoming rough later in north. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. South Utsire: Westerly or northwesterly 4 or 5, occasionally 6 later. Slight or moderate. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. Forties, Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger, Fisher, German Bight, Humber: Westerly veering northwesterly 4 or 5, occasionally 6 except in north Forties. Slight or moderate. Thundery showers. Good, occasionally moderate. Thames, Dover: West or southwest 4 or 5, occasionally 6 later. Slight or moderate. Showers. Good. Wight, Portland, Plymouth: West or northwest 4 or 5, occasionally 6 later in Wight. Slight or moderate. Mainly fair. Good …"_

Patrick rolled onto his back and smiled as he caught sight of the clock on his bedside table, it was almost ten to one in the morning. In just 11 hours he would be stood at the foot of the church, watching Shelagh walk towards him, Tim at his side. He had been dreaming of it for long enough, but now that it was almost here he could barely believe it. For far far too long he had been stuck in a rut, he had felt like after Clare he could never love again, and didn't deserve to, every thought he had about his marriage was one of guilt, what if he had been in the car that day, what if he had spent more time with Clare and Tim, shouldn't he have seen more of his son growing up? Should he have ever thrown himself so completely into his work? Had his wife been truly happy, not that he thought that Clare was actively unhappy, but had she been _happy_ married to Patrick, who was to all intents and purposes having an affair with his job?

As the World Service began on the radio, Patrick rolled over to see the other side of the bed. It had been Clare's of course, now the pillow case always smelt of Shelagh's shampoo and he was far more used to seeing her figure lying beneath the duvet than Clare's. Was that right? Should his memories of Clare really be being dissipated by new memories of Shelagh? Or was that the natural order of things, was him moving on completely right and as it should be? Sitting up slightly in bed Patrick looked around his bedroom, now there was a pile of women's shoes in the corner, vaguely arranged into rows, the partially open wardrobe showed that the space was now divided into his clothes, and hers. He liked that, it made him feel like everything was tidy, it made everything clean and ordered in his life. Shealgh was going to be his wife, and here was their shared wardrobe, and her perfume on the side, and her mug on the draining board. It was what he wanted, it was what he needed, it was really all he needed and wanted to make him happy!

Rolling back over to his side of the bed he picked up his mobile and looked at the wallpaper, a picture of him and Shelagh sat in a restaurant on their anniversary, he was smiling at Tim behind the camera, while Shelagh looked down at her glass of wine shyly, her smile small but it met her eyes, and there was a spark of joy behind her eyelashes. He broke into a smile as he looked at the picture, she was so obviously happy, the look in her eyes, and the smile that played on her lips reassured Patrick. She had kept him waiting long enough before accepting his proposal, which surely meant that she was certain, this wasn't a whim … or, he reflected, did it mean that she was un-certain, that she didn't know how she really felt? Was this as it was truly meant to be? Started out of his reverie by the beeb of his phone, a text from Shealgh. He frowned at the screen, why was she texting him at one in the morning, he tapped gently on the screen to open the text he read it slowly.

*Two melons sat in a bar. Melon 1: "Let's run away and get married!" Melon 2: "Sorry but I cantaloupe." Xxx *


	23. Chapter 23

**_I am sorry this chapter has taken so long to go up, you know how it is, you take two weeks A/L and suddenly everyone's round for a cup of tea and a catch up and suddenly it's 9pm and you haven't done any writing!_**

**_I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy reading this one, thanks to all of you who have reviewed - I love every single one. And a special thank you to "_****_Alias Euterpe" who has provided me with an excellent insight to what weevils are!_**

Just by the by – I haven't been to a church wedding for a very very long time! So apologies for any inaccuracies, I took all my knowledge from various films I've seen and if any of you are more familiar with Curch of England wedding services then I apologise for my hashed together service! 

**_This chapter's songs are:_**

Today I met the boy I'm going to marry – Darlene Love  
Marry You – Bruno Mars  
Take her back – The pigeon detectives.

**_Enjoy! x_**

* * *

_Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry. He's all I've wanted all my life and even more, he smiled at me and then the music started playing, here comes the bride when he walked through the door. Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry. The boy whose life and dreams and love I wanna share. For on my hand a band of gold appeared before me, the band of gold I'd always dreamed I'd wear. When we kissed I felt a sweet sensation. This time it wasn't just my imagination …_

"Umm Cynthia, this entire wedding morning playlist full of love songs?"

"Of course it is … what the hell else would be on a wedding playlist!? Hard core metal?"

"Good point, why do you own so many love songs anyway?"

"I'm a single twenty-something who lives alone … I have a computer full of love ballads and a cupboard full of gin!"

"Well that's a country and western song waiting to happen. Perhaps I'll set you up with … with someone at the wedding!"

"No! Men at weddings are always a bit … odd."

"Is that code for drunk and desperate?"

"Yes! There's something about a wedding, it makes single people act oddly" The front door on the latch, clicked open and revealed Molly laden down with a large box followed by a nervous looking brunette in a bright pink tennis dress.

"Morning Shelagh, fear not, I'm here and I found your hair and make-up … what was your name sorry?"

"Jo, hi again Shelagh."

"Hi, sorry – you should have buzzed up?"

"Yes I know, sorry I actually couldn't remember the flat number! Shall I get all plugged in and set up?"

"Yeah yeah, please do! Umm – how about just here? By the wall?"

"That'll do lovely thanks. Am I alright just to pop to the toilet first? Pregnancy does wonders for your bust but plays havoc with my bladder!"

"Of course, uh just through there on the left."

"Right!" Said Molly, setting the box down on the kitchen counter, "I popped into that café by the docks, the one run by your neighbour? Thought I'd grab you some tea since you so stupidly gave away your kettle! And as well as five free takeaway teas he bunged in 5 free bacon baps! So we are on a roll to have a belter of a morning!"

"Aww you're brilliant! Where's Dad?"

"He's still at the hotel, he decided that he wasn't feeling up this morning session, so I said we'd get the car to run to the hotel on the way to the church, is that alright?"

"Of course! Is he … is he OK?"

"Yeah – just tired, taking it easy for once … now! Let's get this tea drunk and you looking like a superstar!"

"Love, I don't do superstar – I do presentable at best!" Replied Shelagh, making a face at her sister,

"Oh, Shelagh by the way – John's picked up the flowers from the uhh …"

"Florist?"

"Thank you." replied Cynthia. " Very helpful, yeah the florists, he's just texted me, he's pulling up here now and then he's going to run Patrick, Tim and the boys button holes over to them and then head onto the church. I'll go down and let him in."

"Oh fantastic, thanks Cynthia, here take my keys!" Cynthia grabbed the bunch of keys off of the kitchen counter and jogged out of the flat, leaving the sisters together. "The two cars are coming at half ten aren't they?"

"Yep, me and Cynthia are getting the little one, and then yours is running you, via the hotel to pick up Dad to the church. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, of course!"

"You know it's OK to be nervous don't you…"

"I'm not nervous why would I be nervous? I'm really happy and excited and it's going to be … be totally brilliant and amazing."

"And the Oscar goes to …"

"Shut up Molls, I'm fine! Completely fine why wouldn't I be fine!"

"Because you're getting married, and it's scary. I mean it's scary enough for any one, but your bloke's got a twelve year old son and he's almost old enough to be your father."

"Only if he started very bloody young Molls!"

"There's 22 years between you Shelagh, he's 50 … I mean that's a daunting enough thing for anyone to marry into … especially if your 28."

"You're right of course. It's lucky I'm moving in with him, so we wont have to get a walk in bath fitted in the flat, and I've really no room for an oxygen mask beside the bed! Jesus Molly, it's … it's not like that."

"I didn't say that it was a bad thing Shealgh, I just meant that it's a lot to take on and marry into. I mean if you were marrying another 28 year old you'd both be experiencing all this for the first time … together. You're brave that's all I meant, he's been married, he's had kids, it's not all new for him."

"Being married to me will be new for him, and being married to him will be new to me … so … so why should anything else matter? To us or anyone else? And as for the age thing … I don't see it, I mean I know that he's got a bit of a head start on me, but he makes me so happy, he makes me feel safe and want to laugh and … and he makes me feel sexy and God alone knows it's been long enough since I felt like anyone found me remotely attractive. And … was that my phone?"

"Ummm yeah, it's a text … from Patrick."

"Hand it over then, let's see what my man has to say for himself!"

"Oh no! It's bad luck for you two to see each other before the wedding!"

"Molls, you know how texts work don't you!"

"Well I'll check first … eh?"

"God Molls you're so bloody nosey!"

"Only because I care."

"No it's because you're so bloody nosey! Go on then, what does it say?"

"It says … I don't get it?"

"What is it!?"

"Umm, it says: Fat Penguin … is that a weird fetish?" Shelagh felt her shoulders shake and she bent over burying her face into her palm to hide her laughter, "What is it? I don't get it!? Shelagh?"

"It's umm … it's a joke. _Fat Penguin_ – it's an ice breaker…"

* * *

Patrick ran his palms along the top of his trousers, they were sweating profusely and he could feel tightness in his throat. He gave a sideways glance at Tim who was sat next to him at the front of the church, he tried to smile but he could feel it turning into a rictus grin.

"Dad, are you alright? You look a bit … weird."

"No no no, no I'm uh I'm fine just a bit … you know … uh … good yeah, right."

"Are you having a stroke?"

"When did you get so cheeky?"

"When you started going out with a younger woman … you know everything's going to be alright don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah I know. Thanks Tim … you know you've been … well brilliant recently. I'm just being daft – everything will be fine."

"As long as Shelagh turns up obviously."

"You're not too old for a clip around the ear you know! I …" Patrick tailed off as he saw the vicar raise his head, and nod at the back of the church before turning on his heel to face Patrick, he gave a reassuring smile,

"It's time Dr Turner."

"Right … Tim? You ready?"

"Yeah, it'll be fine. Dad?"

"It's going to be brilliant." taking a deep break Patrick stood up slowly as the music started. The first soft piano notes started playing, his heart quickened and he felt like there wasn't quite enough oxygen in the room, turning slowly he looked up the aisle as Shelagh started to move into his view.

_It's a beautiful night__, we're looking for something dumb to do. Hey babe, I think I wanna marry you …_

He looked at her slowly, drinking her in, he smiled that she was still wearing her Ronnie Corbett glasses – she knew that he liked them. Her hair was half up, swept off her face and trailing across her shoulders in the half wave that it always settled into when she was asleep beside him. The veil, unlike the massive 80's creations that had been so popular in his youth, was small, covering only around half of her face and one side of her hair.

_… Well, I know this little chapel__ on the boulevard we can go. no one will know. Oh, come on girl …_

She was walking slowly with her arm linked through her fathers, she looked scared, which reassured him a little if he was honest but as she met his eyes she broke into a reassuring smile and poked her tongue out at him making him laugh and his breath came a little easier.

_… I'll go get a ring__ let the choir bells sing like, Ooh, so what ya wanna do? Let's just run, girl …_

Her dress fell to just above her knees, the sleeves to just below her elbows and there was an almost hint of blue fabric under the white lace of the skirt. She locked her eyes onto his and smiled shyly, he raised his eyebrows at her and exhaled slowly to try and steady his pulse.

_… Is it the look in your eyes__? Or is it this dancing juice? Who cares, baby, I think I wanna marry you._

Sliding in beside him, Shelagh unlinked her arm from Michael's and after a quick glance at her father she turned to face Patrick.

"Nice tie …"

"Thanks … You look beautiful."

"Well, I thought I should make an effort." The couple turned towards the vicar who gave them both a reassuring smile,

"Ready?" he asked. Smiling again he looked up and addressed the addressed the assembled masses of the couple's family and friends. "Good afternoon everyone, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Patrick and Shelagh, which they have chosen to perform here today in the sight of God."

"First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now or forever hold their peace. The vows you are about to take are to be made in the presence of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts. Therefore if either of you knows a reason why you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now …. Lovely, that bit always makes me nervous! Now, on to the main event. Patrick John Turner, will you take Shelagh Maria McDonald to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"Yes … I will."

"Shelagh Maria McDonald, will you take Patrick John Turner to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

"I do, I mean … I will!"

* * *

"I remember the first time I my bairn home, a tiny wee thing, I could have carried her with one hand … not that her mother would have let me! The first time you see your bairn you want to protect them at all costs and make sure that nothing ever goes wrong for them … I'm proud to say that when I see Shelagh and Patrick together I know that my job as a father is done. I've raised a beautiful, clever, headstrong young woman who has chosen her man … I'll be honest when I first saw Patrick I had my reservations, and I'm sure I won't have been then only one who wandered … but I was wrong, and I saw that quickly, if he's brave enough to take on my wee Shelagh then good luck to him and I hope she manages to make him as happy as I can see he's made her. I would like you all to raise a toast – to Shelagh and Patrick."

"Shelagh and Patrick!"

* * *

"And now ladies and gents … we have a special request! From … umm – Julie, Trixie, Jenny, Cynthia, John and Camilla, so here we go!" _He's not sure what he should do__, she's 17, he's 22. Is that too much of a difference? So instead look what he's done, he's found a girl who's 31. Is that too much of a difference? She's got everything he wants, she's got everything he needs …_

"Oh God Shelagh … I am so sorry! It's Trixie and John …"

"Sorry, what Cynthia?"

"The song – I had no idea!"

"Sorry were two pages stuck together? Have I missed some major development?"

"The song … about the umm …. Well about the girl and her …older man and the … them and you know …"

"Shit Cynthia, you don't mean you think people have noticed the age gap!? And we thought we were keeping it so well covered! Do you think the walking frame and the orthopaedic slippers gave the game away? Oh don't worry so much, come on, let your hair down – have some fun, on me!"

"I'm happy here, look go and dance with Patrick, or you know … sit with him, or go and be couply anyway! I'm not sure it's the done thing to lurk around the bar at your own wedding!"

"You're sure?"

"Go – go on!" Shelagh gave Cynthia a quick hug and kissed her on the cheek and ran as well as can be done in heels and a wedding dress over to where Patrick was people watching from his chair on the edge of the dance floor. Cynthia watched her friend and smiling turned back towards the bar to put her almost empty glass down, she turned too quickly and managed to elbow the young man stood next to her directly in the ribs while tipping the remains of her drink over the floor. Her face flushing red Cynthia panicked, the tall man, with his close cropped dark hair pushed his glasses up his nose and brushed a few drops of drink off his waistcoat,

"Oh – I am so so sorry! Are you OK – oh God did I hurt you?!" she asked,

"No no, I'm fine, sorry I wasn't paying attention, you've spilt your drink." he replied.

"It's fine, I was almost finished."

"Let me buy you another!"

"It's a free bar."

"No no really I insist!"

"Ok … vodka and lemonade please … Do you always get strange women at weddings drinks?"

"It's an old Russian custom."

"Is that where you're from?"

"No, Serbia, but I'm well-travelled. And you?"

"I'm not well travelled no."

"I meant where are you from? You can tell me your name too if you like, I wont stalk you on Facebook or anything else weird you've heard about us Eastern Europeans."

"You mean you won't use my name to get a visa! It's Cynthia … Miller, I work with Shelagh, and you?"

"Dr Miroslav Petrović, I used to work in A&E with Shlealgh before she ran off to be a midwife."

"A Serbian doctor working for the NHS, David Cameron must hate you."

"The hate mail is certainly getting more frequent yes … this barman seems determined not to give me a drink …"

"It doesn't matter."

"Do you want to dance?"

"Me?"

"Yes … If you want, I mean I believe people do dance at weddings."

"I'm a terrible dancer …"

"And I can't play spell anaesthetist … we all have our crosses to bear."

"Why don't you try Jenny, she's brilliant!"

"I'm sure she is, but I'd rather dance with you and be rubbish, than dance with her and be brilliant … if you like."

"I'm really awful …"

"Do you know, Anaurin Bevan was so bad at dancing that they had to put a ban on music being played in his office."

"You're making that up."

"Obviously – but it made you smile."


	24. Chapter 24

**_You know what two things don't mix? Tea and Laptops!_**

**_I've been out of action for over two weeks due to my irresponsible cup management – but I think that that may have been a bit of good thing because I was having real trouble writing this chapter and now I've written it in 24hours. Clearly writers block can be cured by smoking in the bath and chain reading P.G. Woodehouse!_**

Anyway – back to the matter in hand! They're married, they've had the wedding – so naturally next comes a honeymoon, although will Patrick's plan for a week of non stop sex and champagne go awry?

**_Further A/N: This chapter contains some Americans, they are massive stereotypes who are included for comedic purposes only – so sorry about them for all you lovely Americans out there!_**

**_This chapter's song: Anastasia – left outside alone_**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

"You know you're so sexy when you're married."

"I think that has more to do with the dress …"

"It is a good dress." Replied Patrick as they walked along the corridor towards their bedroom, pausing as Patrick grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards him, burying his face in her neck,

"Mmm – it is a good dress," said Shealgh, with a smile. "… and I know what I've got on underneath it too."

"Nurse McD - sorry -Turner … you are brilliant and gorgeous and the sexiest woman in the world!"

"You, Dr Turner, are very very drunk!"

"Shh – I may be drunk … but I'm not blind! Oh – here we are, keys?"

"In your pocket!"

"So they are … well done you! Come along Mrs Turner, I was in the drama society at university with a law student and I have been reliably informed that an unconsummated marriage is an invalid one …"

"Well then – we'd best be consummated then … I'd hate for our marriage to be deemed invalid!"

"It'd be very disappointing!"

"Especially after I went to the trouble of finding an orange and white garter …"

"You havn't …? You've found a _garter _in the Blackpool football colours?!"

"Consider it a sign of my confidence in our marriage, that I didn't get one in red and white for Aberdeen.."

"I feel honoured!"

"You should, my father would have me killed if he knew."

"He'd have me killed if he knew what I was thinking right now … so … Mrs Turner?"

"Dr Turner?"

"Right – I've had enough, stop being coy! Get on that bed!" He said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in towards him and kissing her softly, before pushing her back towards the hotel bed.

"I hope that now we're married you don't think you can order me about all the time!"

"Sorry love … please, please will you get on the bed!"

* * *

Patrick rolled over with a yawn and for a moment he stared at the celling, wondering where he was, he didn't recognise the wall at the foot of the bed and it wasn't until he looked over at the armchair in the corner of the bedroom and saw the pale blue underskirt covered by the white lace of Shelagh's wedding dress that he remembered. The dancing, the drinking, the cake, the speeches, Shelagh walking down the aisle towards him and the lump in his throat as he watched her smile at him and felt his son's hand on his elbow. He slowly rolled over and saw Shelagh asleep beside him, curled up into her customary ball under the duvet, her head bent down with her hair, still curled from the wedding fanned out on the pillow around her. There were traces of her makeup around her eyes, the silvery grey smudged across her eye and her temple, and her lips were still pink.

With a sniff and a soft mumble of "Gorbachev …" she opened her eyes and looked at Patrick, she smiled raising her eyebrows. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Only a second, you've been talking about Communists again in your sleep."

"Oh God, that's always a bad sign. How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, you?"

"Mmm – OK. I thought I'd have the hangover from hell."

"Mmm, we must of slept it off, what time is it?"

"Umm – I don't know … half eleven just gone."

"You know," Said Patrick slowly, "We're too late for breakfast … and too early for lunch. So we'll have to find some other way to fill our time until we can eat …"

"Right, and what exactly did you have in mind Dr Turner?"

"Well Mrs Turner, I did think that since we're already in bed …"

"And getting dressed would just be silly now!"

"Well exactly, and there are certain expectations of a honeymooning couple …"

"You. Are insatiable!"

"We'll get me some bromide when we get back to London, but until then you'll have to cope with the fact you are incredibly sexy."

"Oh don't say that I'm sexy! I hate stuff like that, I can't cope with people telling me I look nice on a night out let alone you telling me I look sexy!"

"You look hideous, I find you repellent! Better?"

"Much, now – come here." She replied with a grin, reaching across to kiss him softly on the lips. "You know," She said, pulling back slightly, "They actually do room service breakfast here all day … so we havn't exactly missed breakfast."

"Yeah I know, but I wanted an excuse to keep you in bed."

"It's not like you to forgo bacon."

"Consider that a testament to you, and your completely … un-sexy rubbishness!"

"God you know how to make me happy!"

* * *

"Mrs Turner? … Mrs Turner? … Sorry – Mrs Turner!?"

"Shelagh?"

"Mmm – that's you now …"

"What? Oh right yeah of course – hello? Yes that's me … apparently!"

"Yes, umm – sorry to bother you," Said the impossibly young looking receptionist, " someone said that you were a midwife?"

"Yes …"

"Right … uh, we have a lady who thinks she's in labour, I know it's your honeymoon but … it's just that her husband doesn't want to drive her the two hours to the hospital if it's another false alarm, they've had a few apparently."

"Uh … right, umm, let me just tell my husband and then I'll go up …" turning on her heels to face Patrick who was stood next to the wall in the hospital foyer, fiddling with his lighter . "Right, you know in that episode of _All Creatures Great and Small_ where James and Helen go on their honeymoon …"

"… yes …"

"And then James spends the whole time tuberculin testing cows."

" … yes … and I have a horrible feeling I can tell where this is going, some idiots gone into labour havn't they?"

"Maybe, sorry, look she's had loads of false alarms, so they just want to know if this is another one before her husband takes her to the hospital … so it'll take ten minutes either way! Why don't you go and order us some lunch and I'll be back down in a second."

"Alright then, see you in a bit." He reached across for a kiss, and with a shake of his head he wandered into the hotel dining room, Shelagh turned away and walked back towards the receptionist.

* * *

_Left broken empty in despair, wanna breath can't find air. Thought you were sent from up above but you and me never had love. So much more I have to say, help me find a way. And I wonder if you know, how it really feels, to be left outside alone. When it's cold out here, well maybe you should know, just how it feels to be left outside alone._

Patrick started his third cup of tea that afternoon and carried the cup out onto their balcony to have a cigarette, he fiddled about with his lighter until it produced a flame and held it to the tip until it glowed. Sighing he leant over the edge of the barrier drinking in the views across the Cornish coastline, taking a drag on his cigarette he heard the bedroom door behind him close and he turned around,

"Hi." he said slowly, taking a sip of his tea.

"Hi love, I am so sorry."

"You were gone for over an hour …"

"Yeah I know I know! I'm so sorry – I got to her room and the poor lady's in advanced labour, and she's lying on the bed sobbing because she thinks she's in early labour and she wont be able to cope with full labour if this is how painful early labour is … oh god, I mean luckily the ambulance turned up in time so I wasn't on my own … you're not cross are you?"

"No I'm not cross, why would I be cross, it's not your fault is it … and you can't very well turn around to a woman in labour and say 'Sorry I'm on holiday – sod this!' can you now?"

"No … I almost wish I could, I'm sorry for making your afternoon a bit rubbish."

"You didn't, it's fine I just – Jesus this song is awful!"

"What are you listening to?"

"This hotel seems to solely get BBC Cornwall! And they have a somewhat eclectic playlist …"

"Switch it off – come along, we've still got that bottle of Champagne from last night … and our own balcony."

"You know how to make a man happy don't you Shelagh Turner."

"I try, come on – lets go outside – enjoy the sun." taking his hand, Shelagh led him slowly outside onto the bedroom's balcony, overlooking the sea with the sound of the waves breaking reaching them mixed with the cry of seagulls and the shouts of families playing on the sands. Siting himself down on the deckchair he reclined as far back as the wooden back would allow and allowed Shelagh to curl up half on his lap, with her feet tucked in-between his knees her body lying against his chest. "Shit … I should have switched off radio."

"It's fine – I'll just pretend I like Anastasia!"

"You know who this is?"

"Love I'm 50 not 80 – I have some grasp on music produced within the last 10 years."

"This songs older than that!"

"Well I also have dementia – you know because I'm so old!"

"Obviously."

"Hi there!" Came a cry from across the side of the building, on the adjoining balcony stood a couple, Shelagh turned over, crushing Patricks knee in the process.

"Christ – Shelagh … knee … really only bends the one way."

"Oh God sorry love –sorry! Umm Hi there, hi – you alright there?" Said Shelagh, clambering ungracefully off of Patrick, she stood up quickly straightening her skirt and casting an eye over the couple. In their mid 50's, matching greying hair and a pair of almost stroke inducingly bright shirts between them.

"Well hi there you two, hope we aren't disturbing anything."

"Chance'd be a fine thing …" Muttered Patrick under his breath, receiving a dig to the rib from Shelagh he tailed off and broke in a saccharine sweet smile,

"Nope, nothing disturbed!" added Shelagh,

"Well we just wanted to make ourselves known you know, I'm John, this here's my wife of 30 years now Mary!"

"Oh good … uh I'm Shelagh and this is my husband Patrick … we're on our honeymoon actually."

"Oh how adorable! Gosh where are you two from?"

"Uh well I'm from Aberdeen … Patrick's a Blackpool boy."

"Oh well that's just great isn't in John?"

"Sure thing! Well hey why don't you two meet us for dinner downstairs, huh?"

"Well actually -"

"Teach us your kooky English ways!"

"Well you see we were -"

"And hey – maybe we can even give you two some tips for a long marriage, what do you say Mary."

"Great! Shall we say 7?"

"Uh – right … we were just going to have a quiet evening in." Began Patrick for the third time, feeling Shelagh's hand on the small of his back,

"Oh don't you worry, we're not too wild, you'll have a quiet night with us. Gee Shelagh, I gotta say, you're a brave lady for marrying an older man like that."

"Oh god." Patrick said softly, ducking his chin down and reaching for Shelagh's arm as he felt her stiffen in annoyance.

"I'm sorry?" She started before Patrick cut in to rescue her,

"Actually," he said, "we're not going to have any dinner – we're going to go inside and spend the rest of the evening have wild and _incredibly_ loud sex. So, if you'll excuse us – Mary, John – good night." turning, he led Shelagh back between the French windows with a friendly wave to their neighbours.

"I can't believe you just said that …!"

"Oh it's fine – 4 days of awkward meetings over breakfast is a far better deal than 4 days being stalked by the bloody Waltons!"

"Do you think they have a son called John-Boy?"

"Oh of course they bloody have!"


	25. Chapter 25

**_Welcome to chapter 25! Wey-hey!_**

**_I actually loved writing this chapter – very dialogue heavy, because I just wanted to show how excited everyone was and in my friends and family, excitement means loud lengthy conversations!_**

**_I really hope you enjoy this chapter – thanks to all of you who have reviewed, you're all fabulous human beings – and please do continue!_**

**_This chapter's song is:_**

**_Posh Girls – Scouting for girls_**

**_Enjoy x_**

* * *

_Posh girls have good manners but they go like the clappers 'cause they never got to hang around with boys at school. Posh girls have good manners but they go like the clappers 'cause they never got to hang around with boys at school. She seems pristine, but don't be deceived because she's not that naïve, and it looks like butter wouldn't melt._

Patrick took his key out of the ignition and took a moment to check around the car, there were hints that Shelagh occasionally drove it, the fact the seat was every now and then pulled forward, the faint trace of her shampoo that lingered in the air, the pair of sunglasses tucked under the windscreen and the fact that every once in a while he switched on the engine and jazz would pour out of the stereo as one of her CD's came into life.

Picking his bag up from the passenger footwell he gave the gear stick a final wiggle and got out of the car, there was a reassuring cool dampness in the air that said that summer was on it's way out and autumn on the return. He contemplated taking his coat out of the boot, but decided against it, chancing it in only his suit. Locking the door he started towards the hospital's staff entrance, a small selection of staff were stood outside, shielded from the public and the wind to smoke their cigarettes, make phone calls and mentally plan who was going to get the kids to school this week. Checking his watch, Patrick pulled his packet of B&H from his pocket and lit up, he exhaled a plume of smoke and re-pocketed his lighter and cigarettes.

"Ahh – good morning Doctor."

"Fred. Lurking about are you, how are things?"

"Can't complain Doc, can't complain. You just back?"

"Yup, I'll miss the lie-ins and the sea-views but it's nice to be back!"

"Sea-views? Wouldn't have thought you'd have seen much of the sights what with it being your honeymoon and all, eh doc?!"

"Mmm …"

"… Right well I'll be off then doc – you have a good day now!"

"Mmm, you too now Fred, bye."

* * *

"Patrick! How was the honeymoon?"

"Fine thanks Julie, in fact – wonderful, brilliant … it was just really lovely!"

"Oh that's such good news, I'm so glad for you both, it was a lovely wedding."

"Well we should sit down and have a proper de-brief at some point – although I'm sure that Shelagh'll give you the full story when she gets in later."

"Yes, I'm sure she will, you know she really is very happy."

"Good, so am I … really so … so happy. Happier than I've been in a long time!"

"Well I'm glad, you deserve it. By the way – you have a new F1 in today, didn't catch her name I'm afraid."

"Oh right well that should be nice, always happy to impart my years of accrued wisdom unto others, you know me Julie."

"Mmm – I do. Right well I'd best be off, meeting's coming out of my ears I tell you! Oh and if you see Shealgh before I do tell her to come and visit me, I have a proposition for her."

"Ooh – sounds interesting."

"It may well be, see you later Patrick."

"See you." Collecting his post out of his pigeon hole, he noticed that someone had stuck a sticky label over the typed 'McDonald' of Shelagh's label, and replaced it with a biro written 'Turner'. Smiling to himself he flicked through the post, a copy of the BMJ that had arrived in his absence, an invitation to a very dull sounding dinner held by a pharmaceutical company, and a smattering of other odds and ends that were always circulating the hospital. Walking backwards into his office, with his bag handle slipping from his grasp, a mug of tea in one hand, while the other tried to stop his post from slipping away. He didn't spot the woman sat in his office, in her early 20's with her shoulder length dark hair expertly blown dry, while all around her the scent of expensive make-up filtered. "Jesus! Sorry … you are?"

"Lila, Dr Lila Morgan … your new F1 … I did email but it said you were on holiday."

"Yes … yes I was. Sorry, how did you get in here?"

"I asked one of the porters to open it for me, I hope you don't mind?"

"Right … well, I would generally rather it if you didn't go into my locked office, uninvited, before we've been introduced. But who knows, maybe I'm just old fashioned! Dr Patrick Turner."

"I know. I read about you, my father worked with you at Guys I believe."

"Really? I can't say that I …"

"Sir Alistair Morgan-Howard?"

"Ahh, Sir Morgan-Howard of course, yes I wouldn't quite say we worked together. I treated one of his patients in Gyne about 15 years ago after some of his … what was it now … designer vaginal surgery went wrong."

"Well Daddy always was a pioneer."

"Is that what they call it these days? I think I chose some quite different words at the time."

"Ha, well Daddy remembers you very fondly."

"I'm sure he does, I didn't sue him for malpractice."

* * *

"So!?"

"So what?"

"So! What was it like? Was it romantic and beautiful!?"

"It was lovely, best honeymoon I've ever had!"

"Urgh – Shelagh, you're rubbish, I want gossip, I want details!"

"Well you're not going to get any, we had a lovely time … and barely left the hotel. And _that_ is _all _you are getting Nurse Lee! But come on, any gossip from the home front?"

"Yes! You're doctor friend … the one you used to work in A&E with, the Polish one?"

"Miroslav? He's Serbian … what about him?"

"Well, put it this way … he didn't leave alone that night … he left with, drumroll please -"

"Get on with it – I've got a stretch and sweep waiting in room 4!"

"Cynthia!"

"NO!"

"Yup – Cynthia spent almost the whole night with him at the reception, then they left together. She's been seeing him a lot!"

"My God … Cynthia?"

"Yeah – I know, Cynthia! It's like finding out that the Virgin Mary was working as a Las Vegas showgirl on the side."

"Oh be nice … but I'm happy for her, Miroslav's a lovely man – and an excellent doctor. And if memory serves he's really good at dancing … so she's a lucky girl."

"Ooh, don't talk like that or people'll think you want to trade our Dr Turner in for a younger model!"

"Ach – haud yer wheesht. Right, well I'll go and poke my cervix in 4, see if I can't get things going. I'll do a run to the shop after I've done that – you want anything Jenny?"

"Ooh – can you get me a KitKat, I've got a craving."

"Aye aye – you haven't got yourself into trouble have you? Craving KitKats …"

"No I bloody have not! Haven't you got a cervix to sweep?"

"I'm going I'm going!" Replied Shelagh with a smile, her hand already on the door handle of room 4. The trace of a laugh was still on her lips as she stepped into the room, sitting furiously on the bed was a young girl. Her notes said that she was 16 although through a thick layer of makeup mixed with her lank greasy hair her age was much harder to tell. She was skinny, around 7 stone wet through Shelagh guessed, giving the girl a quick appraisal, her shoulders were sharp and her elbows pointed ferociously outwards as she wrapped her arms around the incongruous bump. "Hi there, it's Jade isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Hi, I'm Shelagh, your midwife."

"Right – so can I go out for a fag now or what? 'Cos that old bitch out there said I can't."

"We don't really want you to leave the unit Jade. It's important the we can moniter your baby's heart, and make sure that your healthy."

"That's shit, when my Uncle Kev was in they let him go out all the time yeah."

"Was your Uncle Kev having a baby?"

"What? No – you thick or summin'? You sayin' my Uncle's gay?!"

"No. I'm saying that unless he was in labour then it really doesn't matter if he was allowed out to smoke or not. You're not – end of."

"Whatever yeah."

"Jade, I'm not here to fight you. I'm here to give you and your baby the best care, and get the baby born safely – OK?"

"Yeah … whatever."

"Have you got anyone here to help you with the labour?"

"Nah."

"Not your Mum, or boyfriend?"

"Nah – I'm well shot of him, Mum don't wanna know …"

"Or a friend?"

"Look – I aint got no-one right. So … let's just do this yeah."

"Right … OK. That's fine. Now you know why your in-today."

"That sweep thing yeah."

"Yeah – so I'm going to try and induce the baby, using my finger to try and separate the bag that your baby's living in from your cervix … do you understand?"

"Yeah."

"When Julie examined you earlier she said you … umm, your body was already getting set for labour so hopefully this should bring on the labour sooner rather than later. OK?"

"Yeah … do we have to?"

"Do the sweep?"

"Yeah … seems like the baby don't wanna be born. I think about the baby … all safe and warm … why would it want to be born – worlds full of shit."

"… Jade … I know that this is probably not ideal for you … but what your baby needs is a Mum, who loves them and … I think you can do that. I know your scared -"

"You don't know fuck all! Shit your talkin' you don't know fuck all! You married are you? With your kids and your nice car and shit? So you don't know shit about me, and my life and how I feel yeah!"

"I am married yes … and that was hard, harder than you'd think … I've got no kids … but I've got a 13 year old stepson – and how ever scared you are right now about having a baby … I was that scared of getting someone else's son … scared he wouldn't like me, scared he'd hate me … scared I'd lose my husband if I didn't get on with his son … life is terrifying Jade, being alive is the scariest thing you'll ever do … but if you take the risks … and take a chance … then the prizes are the greatest."

* * *

"Right … I've got ham salad, cheese and pickle … umm … coronation chicken and an egg mayo – who wants what?"

"Ham salad please! You're a star."

"Ham salad for Julie – Jenny?"

"Uh – oh god I'm rubbish at decisions! Well what do you and Patrick want?"

"I've got my eye on the coronation chicken; Patrick'll eat anything to be honest."

"I'll have egg mayo then please – thanks Shelagh."

"Ooh – Shelagh, did you get my message, I need a chat with you about something at some point today if you don't mind?" Said Julie, tearing at the plastic packet of the sandwich with her teeth,

"Uh, sorry didn't get any message, are you free now?"

"Yeah – no probs."

"Right … two secs I'll just drop this off with Patrick- back now." jumping up from her staff room chair, Shelagh slipped down the corridor that led to the offices, the door was half ajar with the old peeling:

Dr P. Turner (MMed, DGO)

Obstetrics & Neonatal  
Registrar

sat wonkily on the name plate. He had once told her that it was a temporary measure put in when he took over from his predecessor that no-one had ever thought to replace. Pushing the door slightly she found Patrick sat at his desk staring at his computer, while sat on the arm of his desk chair was a tall slim woman, her left arm lay across the back of the chair and she was leant over Patrick staring at his screen. With a small cough Shelagh leant against the door frame watching the couple,

"Shelagh!"

"Hi -"

"Excuse me – this is actually a private meeting so, if you don't mind." cut in the slim brunette with a cocked eyebrow.

"You must be our new F1."

"I am, and you're a midwife … so as I said, if you don't mind."

"Actually -" Began Patrick in a vague attempt at chivalry, and a deep rooted feeling that his new doctor had no idea what it was she was doing,

"I don't think we've been introduced, Dr …?"

"Dr Lila Morgan." she replied, after a moment of staring at Shelagh's outstretched hand she finally deigned to shake it, standing up from the arm of the chair with a sigh.

"Lovely to meet you Dr Morgan, Shelagh Turner. How do you do?" There was a moment as her fingers left Shelagh's palm when her face flickered for a moment, a slight frown and her tongue rested against the bottom of her teeth.

"I'm sorry? Shealgh …?"

"Turner, Shelagh Turner. Sorry to disturb your meeting, I was just going to give you your lunch … _darling_."

"Umm – right … thank you … _darling."_

"Oh you're more than welcome … _darling." _Turning on the spot, Shelagh threw a cursory glance across Dr Morgan and smiled at the young woman before leaving the office, trying desperately to look confident and aloof. Inside the office, Lila spun around to face Patrick. She licked her lips and started as if she was going to say something but then thought better of it and walked back towards the desk, inhaling again she ploughed forth.

"I … I thought you were widowed … Daddy said that you were widowed."

"I was widowed yes, but I recently re-married. Married Shelagh."

"I see … you married a midwife? Could you not find someone a little more …?"

"A little more what? Dr Morgan, why are you here? Can I take a wild stab in the dark as to your plan? You do badly in your exams, but Sir Alistair Morgan-Howard's daughter isn't going to fail medical school … So a few strings are pulled, the necessary rotations are organised – you're given to consultants and registrars that your father knows. You bat your eyelids, smooth a few egos, perhaps even a bit of who knows what at the Christmas party. Then you qualify – and get yourself a nice quiet country practice somewhere where you can treat bunions and asthma for heaps of cash and do very little harm. Is that about right?"

"Pretty much … look I'm sorry. I am – but you don't understand what it's like to be the daughter of someone like Daddy, the expectations are massive … will you report me?"

"What for? You've not really done anything wrong you know. I mean I've seen your work all morning, you're not terrible, I mean you're no super-star either – you miss stuff and you make errors but I think that … with a bit of help, you could be a decent doctor. Your diagnosis skills are alright, your meds management is OK … I think that if you work at it we could make a passable, non-deadly doctor out of you. So no – I wont report you … but, if you're ever rude to or about my wife like that again, I'll fail you, report you and get you struck off. Clear?"

"As crystal."

* * *

"Hello?!"

"Hi love, living room."

"Evening all, oh, where's Tim?"

"Went to bed, he said his requisite five syllables when I got home and then went to his room."

"Oh good – mmm, what are you eating?"

"Christ knows, it was in the freezer in tupperwear, I think it's chicken … maybe. There's some on the stove if you want it, how was your run?"

"Oh fine, only managed 3k before the rain sent me home, I need to dig out my trousers, these shorts aren't going to be enough in a few weeks time."

"Mm – oh yes, can't have you getting cold knees now can we!?"

"Don't laugh!"

"I'm not, I'm not! By the way … that Dr Morgan, Lila -"

"Oh yeah, I meant to say about that – if you're going to cheat on me, you could at least make it subtle, she was all over you like a bloody rash!"

"I am categorically not having an affair, for one I have you, and for two – I can barely keep up with one woman in her 20's, let alone two at the same time! Jesus I'd be knackered!"

"You would! So Lila Morgan is gone?"

"Nope, she's … I didn't have the heart to get rid of her, it'd be the end of her medical career straight away and … she's not that bad …"

"Hmm."

"Jesus – does someone take you aside on your wedding day and show women how to do that face and noise?! Every single married woman I know can do it."

"I'm just not convinced … but hey ho – we'll see."

"Yeah – well let's not hold our breaths. Mm – I meant to ask love, how was your meeting with Julie – what was she after?"

"Oh my God, I can't believe I forgot to tell you! Right so you know the Royston centre, down by the docks?"

"That addiction centre place?"

"Yeah, so, due to cutbacks it's being closed down and split up, the addiction maternity clinic is being moved to the hospital, open two days a week and they're opening it up so that it's also teenage pregnancies and prison pregnancies and all that kind of stuff."

"One massive cutback and re-jig then?"

"Basically. And … and Julie has been asked to provide a midwife, they're keeping in all the nurses and social workers and stuff. But they want a 'senior midwife' to help run it – just two days a week – and Julie thought of me."

"You? I mean your brilliant and I love you, but why you?"

"_Thanks_! No, well she thinks that I'm probably the only senior midwife that's a, young enough to take on the job, b, would want to do it and c, is in all likely hood going to be staying for the foreseeable future … what do you think? I mean it's a brilliant opportunity …"

"I think you want to do it, I think that you'd be brilliant at it, and I think that is really all that matters."

"That means that you don't want me to do it, doesn't it?"

"You're asking me if I want to spend less time with my gorgeous sexy wife, so that she can go and examine the uteruses of angry drug addicts? No, I wouldn't want you to do it … but that's entirely different from me thinking that you should do it because you'd be good at it, and you'd enjoy it … so."

"So that's brilliantly ambiguous!"

"Oh I do my best – I like to think of myself as man of mystery!"

"Hmm – yeah, keep trying love!"


End file.
